ghosts of myself

I'm pretty sure this place is haunted.

when I was a camper in middle-of-nowhere georgia growing up, we told ourselves all sorts of stories to convince ourselves that camp was magical. there was a certain hill behind the tabernacle that we were sure we could fly off of if we got a fast enough running start. there was a lake monster, of course, and if the wampajaw didn't get you when you fell out of your canoe the leeches would. I didn't need stories to know that camp was magical, though. the suspension of reality for an entire week was magical enough.

being back at camp at a place where I was never a camper, only a counselor, is haunting in a very different way. I knew that coming back to a place I haven't been in ten years would bring up a lot of ghosts.  I was counting on phantasmic encounters of things I'd long tried to erase from my head, visions of people I'd long forgotten, memories of a time in life that was hard to muddle through.  I wasn't prepared for those ghosts I keep bumping into to be ghosts of myself.

last weekend friends from my first time here at camp came to visit. these are the sort of friends everyone hopes to have in their lives, the kind of cliche "pick up where you left off" people that know things about you that you have long since forgotten. what amazes me about these sort of friends (and this crew in particular) is that no matter how long it has been or how cloudy my memory of my time with them, they know the essence of me better than I could ever describe it myself. that part of me that hasn't changed as I've moved all over the place and married someone I didn't even know when I knew these friends. they know me in a way that doesn't change after having children or going through life's wringer.  they see me through eyes that not only ignore my well-earned gray hairs, but also my broken ideas of who I thought I was or even who I think I am. there is no "think" with these folks, just heart connection. and catch up time is not a timeline of events, but rather a swim out to the dock where we confess the big stuff (the heartbreaks, the disappointments, the silly remembrances), while lying on our backs and letting the sun dry our skin.

seeing my ghost-self and seeing myself through the eyes of those who loved me best ten years ago makes it so very clear to me that my life is a magical beautiful blessed adventure. it shows me that I'm doing more than fine, that I'm better off now than I ever dreamed of all those years ago. that all the brokenness, all the wondering, all the uncertainty and leaps of faith and therapy and wandering, all of that makes being my present self all the sweeter.





so now when I see that ghost-like girl out of the corner of my eye, I remind her that it doesn't last forever. that the not-knowing is sometimes just part of the adventure. that she is doing better than she thinks she is. and I thank her for muddling through, for doing the best she knows how, for reminding me just how far we've come.




if I have to be plagued by ghosts, I can't think of a more beautiful way for it to happen.