Connecting Around the Campfire

As the subtle orange light of the campfire flickered a soft glow onto my face, I found myself deep in thought. I found myself in my own universe, free from the chaos of the rest of the world, hypnotized by the glow, lost in my own thoughts and completely focused on those around me. 

The silence of the woods eased our minds. We started lightly, talking about issues like our favorite travel destinations, our most bizarre experience, laughing and chewing our marshmallows as we heard crickets emerge from the silence. One person talked about how they met Barack Obama before he won the presidency; two of them bonded over their collection of fun socks; I reminisced about a vacation to Key West, Florida – all topics we would normally talk about.

But something about the fire – maybe its calming stability of staying rooted in one spot or its chaotic movement that feels open and spontaneous – turned the conversation in an unexpected direction. My friends and I opened up about grief and loss – their last phone calls with a late relative or inability to see their dying family member or sense of guilt over losing someone to suicide. Others talked about their crippling mental illness – depression and panic disorder and anxiety. 

Empathy, compassion and appreciation for others is difficult. But at the campfire, understanding my friends with their problems and struggles was easier.

The crickets grew more intense now as the embers floated high above the trees in a woody, wild environment we quickly realized was unfamiliar, strange and intimidating new territory. We would never talk as openly as we did that night in a normal setting, so I asked myself as we returned to our cabins that night, why did we feel the need to be as vulnerable as we were?

Maybe it was the silence – in the absence of car engines and sirens and air conditioning units that we never seem notice, the natural sounds of the forest felt refreshing. Crickets, the crackling fire, and the occasional owl created a serene, reflective atmosphere in which our voices carried the same natural tone as the woods around us. Our authenticity matched that of the woods – untouched by our modern world, we found ourselves trapped in our thoughts and unable to avoid our emotions.

Or maybe I asked myself the wrong question. When we left the campgrounds, I started to wonder why we can never openly communicate our thoughts and emotions like we did the night of the campfire. We returned to normal conversational topics like memes, sports and the media, and lost ourselves again in our busy, stressful, and frustrating lives where we often interact more often with electronics and machines than other human beings.

Keeping relationships surface-level, narrowly viewing the world through an individual perspective, and neglecting our diverse array of experiences and knowledge often supersedes our desire to connect to those around us and learn from each other’s experience. Empathy, compassion and appreciation for others is difficult. But at the campfire, understanding my friends with their problems and struggles was easier, and opening up to them about my own issues helped me realize that I do not have to face them alone.

In a world with seemingly greater uncertainty, divisiveness, and hatred every day, a bonfire can teach us how to share and connect.

The campfire connected us in a way we could never replicate outside of its specific setting. Sitting in a circle, we could not see anything beyond ourselves (the fire provided the light, and though the moonlight shined slightly on the woods and we all carried flashlights, the dark forest beyond us felt like a giant black wall), creating an ambiance conducive to thoughtful, reflective conversation. We had only each other, forcing an environment of inclusion, respect and vulnerability – after all, if one person decided to judge or ridicule and distance themselves from the group, they would have nowhere else to go. 

But while the environment deepened our discussion, the fire itself intrinsically personalized it and helped us empathize with each other. The silent, unmoving chaos of the fire can remind us that although our lives constantly face change, isolation, exhaustion, fear and stress, we can rest assured that the people in our lives can help move us – like the fire – in the right direction through their loving warmth. And like the warmth emanating from a campfire on a chilly night and the soft marshmallows it provides, we as individuals can all provide others with the same comfort and openness we all seek.

In a world with seemingly greater uncertainty, divisiveness, and hatred every day, a bonfire can teach us how to share and connect. And we should pay attention, since we all still have much to learn.