The Tale of the Disenchanted Dreamer...

So, I have just arrived home from my vacation in Maine, and it was absolute bliss. You know from the moment you step into the Portland Jetport that things will be good very, very soon. The jetport (not airport – only happy little planes fly into Maine) is tiny, organized, and doesn’t try and rip you off. In New York I was forced to pay $10 for a sandwich that was so disgusting I couldn’t finish it because I was certain I was going to vomit – there were no other dining options, and everything was so overpriced, and spaced out. I don’t want to go on an over-priced hike before I travel – I want to relax and eat my lunch without feeling like I’m being taken advantage of. Maine doesn’t taunt you like New York City. Maine is gentler. There are better signs. The security guards talk to you. Flying from my house to the Portland Jetport, I felt like I was coming home. It makes no sense, but it’s true. No wonder they call Maine “Vacationland.”

Camp Sunshine was like a dream come true for me. Everything about the place was just as I’d hoped it would be, and the impression I got of it last summer when I took the tour was absolutely spot on. I spent an entire year waiting to get to this place and experience what went on there, and it was worth the wait. I could not have met kinder people or participated in a better program. I now know that last summer’s camp fiasco was not my fault – I AM capable of being valuable in a summer camp setting, and an ideal setting exists. I felt especially valuable volunteering this particular week. I was working with bereaved siblings between the ages of nine and twelve years old (though most of the time I was surrounded by a flock of ten year old boys who were a complete pain but an absolute joy). As a bereaved sibling myself, it was so interesting to be in the company of these kids who had this secret, scary thing in common with me. I don’t tell too many people about my brother, but my group leader got it out of me during the week and asked me to join a few other bereaved-siblings-turned-counselors when the kids had their “meeting” – a small group toward the end of session when the kids who want to can sit around and talk about their shared experiences with the psychosocial director. It was amazing to hear what these kids had to say. It wasn’t all serious talk about death – it was insightful, and funny, and open. Nancy, the psychosocial director, is absolutely amazing. I want to be her when I grow up, no joke. She is originally from Merrick, became a child life specialist working in Manhattan, became a social worker, and now works part time as the psychosocial director at the most amazing place in the world. You can call me jealous because it’s true. I can’t imagine a position more rewarding. If I was a bolder person, I’d take that path, but I’ve spent too long being told I’ll end up in a cardboard box and it’s ingrained in me. I’m still in awe of what she has accomplished and where it took her. I have a new idol.

Before I got to Camp Sunshine, however (which may have been the best part of my trip, but which was not the most amazing part), my roommate Marci and I went to stay with my friend Kate in Kennebunk. If you want an idea about how this leg of the journey was, all I need to tell you is what happened first – we went to an iParty in Portland and spent sixty-five cents each to buy fish bucket hats, and then continued to walk around the whole day effectively dressed as a shark, a sea turtle, and a purple guppy. After that, we set the tone and had a week that agreed with us all. We went to Applebees multiple times to have flavored sprites and dessert shooters… and only that. We cooked whenever possible. We watched movies all night long and ate too many snacks in our pajamas. We all spent a day down in Kennebunkport and comparison shopped for souvenirs. We went to the beach and chased other people’s dogs. After a few days we moved on to stay with Marci, who is one of ten siblings. It was a crazy time. We had a campfire almost every night, watched even more movies, baked tons of food that got eaten up quickly and was actually appreciated. We went on hikes. We took epic tours of local stores. Life was good. After that, Marci and I went up to camp, and you already know how that went.

It’s funny that I don’t normally take vacations, because that was surprisingly satisfying, and really low-maintenance for a trip. Flying into Maine was cheaper than taking a bus, and quicker. Once I got there I had people to stay with, and then once I was at camp even my meals were covered. If I come to camp during the year, coming from Boston instead of New York, I can take the bus to Portland for about $15 and have a retreat for the weekend, all expenses paid. Whenever I tell people about Camp Sunshine there is always that remark like “but isn’t it DEPRESSING?” or “How can you stand to be around those kids?” and, really, you need to be there to get it. Later on, looking back, I’m not going to remember the specific circumstances of each child’s loss or disease – I’m going to remember our campout, when we tried burning odd things in the campfire. I’m going to remember sitting with ten 9-12 year old boys in a gazebo at 10:00 at night watching The Sandlot. I’m going to remember the endless games of Newcomb when we were supposed to be doing something else. I’m going to remember telling scary stories before bed, even though we weren’t supposed to, and making fun of them all week long (mostly jokes about babysitters). I’ll remember the pre-school age group’s talent show song, and the time we has fish balls as a dinner option and I had to insert “fish balls” into every sentence for the entire meal. The families I met were outstanding, and I’ll remember their strength and humor before I think of anything else. It was as much a retreat for me as it is for the families I was serving. I can’t wait to get back to that place. If I end up making a significant amount of money working at the Resource Center next year, I know where it will be going.

The best part about the trip? It INSPIRED me! Getting out and going somewhere new and experiencing new stuff always manages to get the brain moving, so I should probably do it more. I have two vague ideas for stories in my head, and characters have begun to take up residence. I don’t know if I’ll write at all, but I missed having stories and characters to work out stuck in my brain. The story I was working on before I left school has almost lost all appeal now that I’m hot on the trail of the new ones, so I’ll have to find a postable excerpt. I don’t want to let myself down. I’m still proud of myself, despite the fact that I failed my first writing goal… since I only made that writing goal in hopes of becoming inspired. I think it worked!

All in all, my vacation was more of a success than I could have hoped. I’m off to dream about it – in my own bed for the first time in a few weeks.