Llama Trekking & Lessons in Life
When I was 29, I had what my dad lovingly referred to as an early midlife crisis.
I was living in New York City, freelancing in television, working constantly, and somehow had no life at all. I remember feeling this quiet panic that if I didn’t do something soon, I’d blink and suddenly be old, alone, and left with only a career to hang my hat on. In the TV industry, there was a term for this: a “news nun.” And I could see myself heading straight there.
That summer, in a very roundabout way, I landed a job at a therapeutic recreation camp just outside Asheville for kids with learning disabilities and ADD/ADHD. It was not a strategic move. I had no relevant experience. But I said yes anyway.
For two summers, I worked with younger kids, taking groups backpacking, white-water rafting, and climbing in Pisgah National Forest. During backpacking trips, we used llamas to carry gear—something that still makes me smile. I figured things out as I went, fell deeply in love with the outdoors and the mountains, and formed friendships that have lasted a lifetime. Two of my closest “sisters” came from that chapter of my life.
At the time, I thought I was just taking a break from television.
In hindsight, I was being trained.
Setting People Up for Success
Before each summer, we went through an intense two-week staff training. Part of it was hard skills—camping, river guiding, climbing—but the heart of the training was something else entirely.
We were taught how to work with a very specific population of kids. The emphasis was always on setting them up for success.
That meant meeting kids exactly where they were. It meant understanding distractibility, impulsivity, and emotional regulation—not as flaws to correct, but as realities to work with. We learned strategies to help kids manage their challenges in a way that allowed them to feel capable and confident.
For many of them, this camp was the first place they experienced real success. Traditional classrooms are often the worst environments for kids with ADD/ADHD. But out in the woods—moving, problem-solving, collaborating—their brains lit up. They began to see that their ADD/ADHD wasn’t just something to “deal with,” but could actually be a superpower.
And maybe most importantly, they learned they weren’t alone.
Parenting With a Different Lens
Years later, when I became a parent, I realized how much that experience had shaped me.
Our son, Wyatt, very likely has ADD. He doesn’t have the hyperactivity piece in the way people often imagine it, but he needs to move. He has the ability to focus intensely on things he’s interested in—that classic ADD/ADHD superpower—but struggles mightily with things that don’t capture his attention. In those moments, he can seem unfocused, unmotivated, or checked out.
Because of my time working with those kids, I approached Wyatt differently than I might have otherwise. I knew that forcing him into rigid systems would backfire. I knew Montessori would likely be a better fit. And I trusted that if he could find something he was genuinely interested in, he would be more than fine.
Thankfully, he did. Electrical work clicked for him, and with it came confidence, focus, and a sense of direction.
I often think about how different that journey might have been if I hadn’t had those summers at camp.
Patterns I’m Only Now Seeing
What’s interesting is that this wasn’t the first time I’d received training like that—training centered on understanding people, not controlling them.
In college, I was a Resident Assistant at Emerson. The student population was… unusual. (That’s the kind version.) With majors in theater, film, TV, and dance, housing was filled with creative, intense, emotional, brilliant young people who were often far from home for the first time.
The Housing Department knew this and trained us extensively—conflict resolution, adjustment issues, emotional support. At the time, I didn’t think much of it beyond surviving the job. But I’ve often looked back and realized that training was foundational in learning how to manage creative teams later in my career.
Different setting. Same underlying lesson: people do better when they’re understood.
Things Start to Feel Whole
At this stage of my life, I’m noticing something new.
For a long time, my experiences felt like sidebars—television, camp work, parenting, creative leadership, art. Separate chapters that didn’t quite add up to a single story.
Now, as I design my app and think deeply about creative brains, friction, and how people actually work, those pieces are starting to align. The training I didn’t know I was getting keeps showing up. The idea of meeting people where they are. Of designing systems that support instead of shame. Of reframing challenges as strengths.
Instead of feeling fragmented, I’m beginning to feel… whole.
And there’s something incredibly grounding about realizing that nothing was wasted—that even the detours were quietly preparing me for the work I’m doing now.
