Letters from the Lake: WTF did we just get into?!

Week one in the Berkshires at Camp Lenox

As we wake up to a soft, rainy Sunday morning here in the Berkshires, I find myself taking a long breath and thinking — what exactly did we get ourselves into?

We arrived at Camp Lenox just a week ago, but it already feels like we’ve lived about a month’s worth of moments. The trees are tall and endless, the trails rocky and earthy. The cabin — they call them “bunks” here — are old and wooden and worn in all the right ways. Somehow both rustic and cozy, like time has passed through them but never fully left.

And then there’s the lake. Shaw Pond…

Still. Reflective. Framed by forest — like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting.

It honestly took my breath away when I saw it for the first time. It still does.

And just when we thought we were being welcomed into this peaceful, magical retreat… orientation began.

And suddenly, we were in full-on training mode.

Meetings from morning to night. Schedules, procedures, acronyms we’d never heard before.

Mentally sorting through 10,000 details, it was like trying to sip water from a firehose.

It was… a lot.

All week long, Anthony and I have swung between extremes:

This is amazing.

What were we thinking?!

I don’t think I can do this.

This is exactly where we’re meant to be.

And yesterday — finally — it felt like it all started to click.

The rhythm of the place.

The joy building. Meeting the admin and staff we’ll be working with. Preparing for the campers to arrive, for our kids to arrive. The energy of being part of something bigger than yourself. It filled us up in a way we didn’t expect.

It reminded me so much of what we talk about in Well & Often — that growth doesn’t always feel graceful at first. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It just means you’re stretching.

This past week, we’ve leaned heavily into the Pilates principle of Precision.

Not in the rigid, hyper-controlled sense — but in the way that asks you to slow down and really see what’s in front of you.

When things feel overwhelming, it’s not because they’re impossible. It’s usually because there’s too much noise to notice what matters. And precision helps us narrow the view — to focus on the small things that build the big picture.

It’s like walking into our cabin for the first time. It’s tiny — maybe the size of a small New York apartment — but full of charm. And right there, on a little dry erase board by the door, someone had written:

“What feels like the end, is often the beginning.”

We kept it up.

Because it felt like a message we didn’t know we needed.

This is the beginning.

A new environment. A new pace. A new version of ourselves.

And it’s going to ask more of us — clarity, intention, discomfort.

But in exchange, it’s giving us grit.

And that word — grit — just so happens to be the official theme of camp this year.

So yes, we’re in the right place.

We came here to learn. To strip away the unnecessary. To get sharper about what we’re building — not just as a business or an instructor, but as people. As parents. As community leaders. To understand how something like Camp Lenox has lasted over 100 years, and how that might inform what we hope to build through Well & Often.

Because what they’ve built here — it’s not just a camp.

It’s a living, breathing community. A structure with heart and systems and story.

And we’re soaking up every bit of it.

This morning, again, as I listened to the rain against our cabin roof, I checked in with myself.

And without hesitation, I thought: I’m at 100% today.

Not every day feels like that.

Some are 40%, some 20%, some you’re just floating.

But today — even with the questions and the learning curve — I feel whole. I feel ready.

And that brings me to next week’s theme: Flow.

Because once you know what matters — once you’ve gotten quiet and clear and a little uncomfortable — sometimes the best thing you can do is let go of the grip and just move with it.

Let things unfold.

Let the rhythm take over.

Let your body, your breath, and your life show you what it already knows.

More from the lake soon.

Thanks for being part of this with us.

— xo, Caroline