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I briefly considered bringing a rolling suitcase so I could accommodate the entire packing list: running shoes, sandals, bug spray, sunscreen, multiple hot-weather tank tops plus a few fleece sweaters for cold nights, a Wonder Woman costume, a Woodstock costume, heart-shaped sunglasses.

“Our mission, when we write it down, is to enable adults to make genuine friendships through shared experience,” he says.

“Camp is a place of firsts: first kiss, first time away from your parents, first independence.

The older we get, the harder it becomes to make friends, or to develop real human connections with strangers, particularly as we get further from school, the place where human connection was mandatory for survival.

By your mid-twenties, you can largely live your life knowing the same three people in your same industry, in your little corner of the world.

Once I set up my sleeping bag and tuck my bag away (there’s nowhere to lock your things, nor are there locks on the bathroom or shower doors), I walk toward the campfire next to the dock.

Only a fraction of us are here on this first day — the rest are coming tomorrow — but the bar is open and they’re serving chicken wings and chicken fingers and crudités.

Everyone here, thus far, is very drunk: The six Floridians in front of me, the 14-person (14!

) bachelorette party further up, the cooler guy in the back who is now standing with a group of 10 or so attractive girls and guys, all drinking and laughing together like they’ve been friends for years.

Now you can have fun.” I tell myself I will try harder to ignore the voices of self-doubt that first entered my brain at 13 and went dormant sometime around 2010. A clear departure from CNC, where there are early-evening happy hours and nighttime open bars for the whole weekend, plus mimosas at breakfast and beer and wine at lunch and dinner.

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