Dear Reader,

This time last week Summercamp was coming to a close and I’m only just coming down.

Every year I get what I call my Summercamp hangover. Usually it’s physical. Three days of being switched on, early mornings, late nights, dancing, talking, holding space and being ready for any emergencies. Then suddenly everyone goes home, the tents come down, the field empties and, after months of planning, it’s over.

But this year has been different.

The hangover has felt strangely emotional.

Which is odd, because Laurence and I have been doing this for nearly 14 years. You’d think by now I’d be used to it.

And then the LinkedIn posts started appearing and slowly I’m starting to get it.

For months, Summercamp is a project. There are spreadsheets, ticket sales, suppliers, schedules, speakers, dietary requirements, toilets, tents, transport, cashflow, weather forecasts and lots of problems to solve.

When you’re inside all of that, it’s easy not to see the bigger picture.

Then once everybody goes home and shares how it was for them, you start seeing it through others’ eyes.

​Christina came to Summercamp looking for something she’d lost.

Her younger, fearless self.

The person who danced with abandon, moved 8,000 miles from home and walked into a World Championship showring knowing she belonged there.

“On that field,” she wrote, “I found all of that. And so much more.”

​Claire had signed up back in January knowing that September was going to bring a lot of change. When she arrived she chose a badge that said “here for my future self”.

A few days later she wrote:

“My cup is overflowing.”

And I started noticing that word, or versions of it, everywhere.

“My heart is full.”

“My cup is full.”

“My notebook is full.”

“Full-hearted.”

“Full of joy and appreciation.”

Running a business can feel like the opposite. There’s always something else that needs doing. Another problem to solve, another bill to pay, another person to reply to, another idea you haven’t acted on, another thing you’re behind on. You’re perpetually running on empty.

Yet people were leaving Summercamp describing themselves as full.

Why?

I don’t think it was simply the talks and workshops.

There were some brilliant ones. There was also good food, a lake, a sauna, hot tubs, music, dancing and plenty of things to do.

But looking through what people had written, the things that seemed to matter most often happened in between all of that.

Claire described “heart-warming conversations, nourishing food, nuggets of wisdom, many tears, 7am dancing in a field and laughing till my sides ached.”

Then she said something I keep thinking about:

“Every conversation seemed to include a little message that I needed to hear.”

That isn’t something we can force. It’s why it’s hard to explain what Summercamp really is.

Business conference doesn’t do it.

Retreat doesn’t do it.

Festival doesn’t do it.

We can tell you about the programme, but that doesn’t necessarily tell you what happens.

​Amelia’s experience probably gets closest to what I mean.

She’s a therapist and has spent years wondering where the therapist ends and she begins. At Summercamp, when someone asked what she did, she decided to answer differently:

“This weekend, I want to be known for who I am, rather than what I do.”

Over the weekend she swam in the lake, learned Kung Fu, danced to trance, went to workshops, made new friends and had lots of conversations.

Then at the end of the weekend someone thanked her for being their friend.

She cried.

“I am worthy of friendship, love and connection for being uniquely me, not solely for what I do for them.”

I think this got to the heart of my hangover. It’s less tiredness, and more relief. Relief that I can be me. However that may be. And that’s enough.

How much of our lives do we spend being useful?

Being the founder, the coach, the parent, the expert, the organiser, the person who knows what to do.

And what happens when, just for a while, you don’t have to be any of those things?

This year’s theme was Collective Magic.

It was one of those themes that felt right when we chose it, even though I’m not sure I could have explained exactly what it meant.

Then Nicole Skinner wrote this:

“Collective magic is what happens when a group of people show up open-hearted and fully themselves, and create something between them that none of them could have created alone.”

I think that might be the best explanation I’ve heard.

Because the funny thing is, we can’t actually create Collective Magic.

All we can do is create the conditions for it.

We can find a field, put up some tents, invite people we find interesting and ask them to share something they care about. We can feed everyone well, make places for people to sit, leave enough space, bring some music, encourage people to play and try very hard to create somewhere people feel safe enough to show up as themselves.

Then we have to let go.

The rest happens between people.

Someone says something over breakfast that another person desperately needed to hear. Someone asks a question that unlocks something that’s been stuck for months. Someone dances at 7am. Someone cries with a person they’ve only just met. Someone tells you what they appreciate about you.

And maybe, amongst all of that, something shifts.

I think that’s what I’ve been seeing in all these posts. And feeling in myself. Soft tectonic shifts that are affecting the landscape of my life and work.

​Pete Mosley used one word that also talks to the shift.

Regenerative.

I like that because it feels like the opposite of so much of modern work and business.

Not extracting more from people.

Putting something back.

That’s what people mean when they say they’re leaving full.

That’s why I’ve felt so emotional this week.

​Fran came to Summercamp because someone had told her it would change her life.

Afterwards she said: “It’s maybe too early to tell that but it definitely feels like something has changed in me. I am positively FIZZING inside.”

I think I’ll settle for that. That’s change from the inside out.

Maybe Summercamp isn’t somewhere you go to learn how to do business better.

Maybe it’s somewhere you remember what you want your business, and your life, to feel like.

And then you go home and see where that takes you.

Big love,

Carlos