KC used to tell me stories of playing pranks on the lower camps by eating all of the apples in the orchard. She would leave sorry little cores hanging from the branches like crooked hourglasses twisting in the wind, laughing at the surprised campers coming to pick the apples early in the morning. Passing the apple trees, I would walk up the hill to the oval of splintering benches as people started to fill the space.

Every morning happened that way during my lush, mosquito-ridden summers at camp. Thirty kids would walk to the circle on the hill for Silent Meeting, where we all sat together looking at each other’s mud-cracked feet and silly costumes carefully chosen from the crafts barn. My favorite outfit was a yellow Hazmat suit and a gold-colored hat. Silent Meeting at summer camp was the first place I could sit as a young person and begin to appreciate the wondrous pleasure of dressing however I wanted. At camp, what we called our “fifth freedom" was the freedom to wear what you wanted and, in essence, be yourself without judgment. It was not a requirement to step out of our comfort zones, but rather an invitation to sink our toes into our true comforts, surrounded by a community of people who accepted us for whatever those comforts were, whether it was a jeans and tee-shirt kind of day or a ballerina skirt and combat boots kind of day. To share this love of a “fifth freedom” with thirty other campers was my first step toward living genuinely and without constraint. I could stop and fully appreciate this unique place, my summer home, when I came to sit in silence.

When I was a junior, I went to a semester school in Maine. There I learned about Henry David Thoreau and his idea that “in Wildness is the preservation of the world.” Thoreau helped me understand that true self-preservation can be achieved by a willingness to question authority and be yourself, despite the sometimes seemingly arbitrary principles of the world around you. It reminded me of my "fifth freedom" and the wildness in myself. Yet finally, at sixteen, it seemed possible to connect with my peers without needing to conform to their expectations. I could carry my "fifth freedom" with confidence, able to dress wildly and be myself outside of the boundaries of summer camp. I then found myself yearning to hear what people had to say, needing to find solace within friendship without feeling that my individuality would be threatened. At semester school, I discovered true friendship. We had silent meeting there, too.

At semester school, some people would have their heads bent to the ground, investigating a single pine needle, twisting the point as if to make it dance between their fingertips. The only sounds for a while would be the occasional rustle of wind rushing past the branches of evergreens that filtered the sunlight into shapes, like artists. Then people would feel moved to speak. I always thought that being “moved to speak” was such a strange concept. It struck me that very few people in this world ever truly know what it means to be moved to speak. I imagine it’s not a feeling of trying to fill silence, but actually a visceral need to aid the already existing power of a noiseless serenity. I want to know how it feels to be moved to speak someday.

So now I find that I am ready to sit with myself. I have sat through meetings where the people around me are exploring what it means to wear wild clothing, silently. I have sat through meetings with friends who are exploring what it means to say wild things, thoughtfully. These meetings have brought me to a place where I am now willing to explore what it means to do wild things, intentionally.