Falling Down, And Getting Back Up

And so it begins.

This is where I was two and a half weeks ago:

After two months working as a camp counselor at a Jewish summer camp in Utica, Mississippi, I abruptly suffered a rather nasty bicycle accident that left me bloody, concussed, and unsure of the events of the past few months. Seems that when your face hits the pavement at 25 miles per hour, sometimes you will tend to forget things for a while. Several stitches, an emergency room visit, a dental consultation and root canal later, I was forced to come home and get cared for by my parents for a week until I finally declared myself well enough to go back to camp.

I went back to Utica--partly to finish my job, but also to put a little closure on yet another in an increasing string of excursions in my life. The Henry S. Jacobs Camp is what those of us that have gone there and continue to do so call "home." Not just because more than six summers of my life were spent living, playing, eating, and sleeping there, either. Within its 365 acres, Jacobs harbors what I call "Jacobs Magic"--a certain something that not only keeps kids coming back, but makes the other eleven months of their year worth bearing just so they can come back to camp.

It's been almost four years since I last attended Jacobs as a camper, and back then I wasn't yet fourteen years old. My memories of camp are pretty hazy, but I still strongly remember the yearning in me year after year to go back, even when it was not a possibility. My friends from many years continued to go, and while I still spoke to them every now and then, I also remember being bitter that they were able to go to camp throughout their teenage years having the times of their lives.

The summers I was not at camp I usually spent working to support myself. Then, two years ago, I went to Israel for six months and almost forgot about camp. The experience of Israel blew away anything I had ever known before, and have known since. So it came to be that I eventually started to forget about camp...until this past year.

Somehow, the director of the camp convinced me to come back. "Camp's good for you, and you're good for camp" he said. I don't know if he could have been any more right.

Jacobs is one of the most magical places I have seen. It has so much power, so much happiness within that it makes me marvel at if miracles really do exist in the modern day. This past summer was the absolute time of my life. My friends, both American and Israeli, are some of the best I've had in a while. I honestly wish that I could remember more of the past two months. Turns out head trauma screws with you like that.

So I fell down. Then, I got fed up with being on my ass and I got back up. Albeit suffering lack of energy and many dizzy spells, I went back to finish the job I had promised to do and to do my duty to my kids and my peers. In previous months, if you had asked me to return to a cabin full of pre-pubescent twelve-year old boys with a concussion and open wounds, I would have laughed in your face. But, perhaps partly because of the head trauma, that's exactly what I did.

The last ten days of camp were quite literally the time of my life. I came back with a renewed outlook, refreshed energy, and revitalized sense of purpose. Those ten days I made the best possible, devoting everything I had (which really wasn't that much at times) to my campers and reserving hardly anything for myself.

I found myself fighting bouts of depression and sadness at feeling helpless and useless, but gave what I could where I could, and I suppose I came to accept that that was all I had to give. We have this saying in the Adventure department at camp: "Give 100% of your effort, no matter what, in whatever way, just give your all." So I did.

I even took a bit of time to finish some unfinished business of a more personal nature with a favorite Garin counselor of mine. For those of you wondering, I have a feeling Oregon will soon appear in my sister blog, "Aron's 1000 Places To See."

The last night of camp came, uneventful except for a massive storm and power outage which only made the night better. Then, in no time, it seemed the campers were off the property and it was the staff only night. Some many hours of cavorting around camp like campers ourselves, the time came to leave.

And then came the sadness. A sadness which has followed me since leaving the gates of Jacobs, and won't seem to go away. I'm not sure how to shake it, either. I just feel this deep and utter sense of hopelessness and longing, so much that it makes me want to cry all the time. I want to get out, to go for a bike ride (which I cannot until the doctor clears me), go back to camp, be around Jews again, go on a road trip, go to Israel, make Aaliyah, buy Turkish coffee, backpack the Middle East, travel the world...ANYTHING but sit here in Birmingham and seemingly waste my life away.

I leave for college in a week and a half, at which point I will become a resident of Florida and a full-time student at the University of Central Florida, studying for a Bachelor's of Fine Arts in Lighting Design for theatre, dance, and entertainment. Thus begins the next four years of my life.

Falling down...and getting back up.

Who knows where this next phase will take me--around the world as a professional theatre technician, to Jacobs camp every summer as a returning staff member, maybe even a new oleh to Israel--but the ride is sure going to fun.

I guess life really is like riding a bicycle.

Till next time,

Aron

PS-Don't worry, this is only the beginning of the fabulous depth of profundity that is my mind. Hehe.