Remember how my last camping trip was such a success? Well, I’m at it again.
The fiance and I are headed upstate with a group of friends (even better, this time there are cabins!). And as excited as I am to use my bug fan, I’d be lying if I said that was what I was most looking forward to.
They’ve all heard me say this before (check the blog title, yo), but the hardest part about moving to a place like Long Island is that everyone else has lived here their entire lives. That means there’s history, folks, and it runs deep.
I moved around quite a bit when I was younger. Moving to Texas at seven was easy; I was too young to be sad (it was an adventure!), and virtually everyone who lived in my town was a transplant from somewhere else. Meaning, they understood what it was like to be the new kid and were much more open to new people. (Plus, you know, southern hospitality and all that jazz.)
Then we moved to Iowa. I was old enough to be sad (I had big plans for fifth grade!), and virtually everyone else had practically been born in the house they were currently living in. Tightly knit communities of middle schoolers are, unsurprisingly, not that tolerant of the unfamiliar. I spent a lonely couple of days on the playground before I finally made a few friends in choir.
Moving to Long Island hasn’t been that traumatic, but it has been similar. Sure, the fiance liked me all along, and in general everyone was pretty welcoming, but there are definitely disadvantages to not growing up locally.
For one, the stories. Stories of vacations, parties, and crazy hijinx past — all of which I have no part in. It’s not their fault; you’re supposed to reminisce with your old pals.
But nothing makes you feel quite so much like an outsider like hearing the words, “Remember that time…” and not.
Which is why I’m excited to camp. This trip is an annual tradition — the first of its kind I will be a part of. I’m not saying I’m putting a lot of pressure on the trip to be awesome, but if I don’t get at least two anecdotes out of it (you know, the kind they’ll tell over and over for the next five years), I’m probably going to have to start pretending I did. (“OMG guys, remember that time we all woke up and brushed our teeth at the same time Wasn’t that kooky? Guys? …?”)