Simply put, if I can play my small part in helping a 95-year-old camp continue to provide young people with experiences that turn into core memories, lifelong friendships, and personal development, while fostering individual growth and respect for the natural world, then I’m not just supporting camp—I’m hedging my bets on a better future. Less altruistically, I’m also playing the long game on a great talent pipeline. I dare say, if you can lead eight 17-year-olds on a 40-day wilderness canoe trip down the Mackenzie River from Fort Simpson to Inuvik, you can do pretty much anything. Which brings me to my second motivation—my daughter, Chloe—who paddled that trip as a camper in 2018 and is about to lead it as a guide in a few weeks’ time.

A wise friend once told me that, as a parent, you’re only as happy as your least happy kid. And so long as camp is in my daughter’s thoughts, we have nothing to worry about. Camp hasn’t just been in her thoughts—it’s been in her heart since she first attended as a shy 10-year-old. The second year she went, a friend from school joined her, and that friend spent the whole time complaining about the food, the weather, the bugs—you know, camp stuff. When she came home, a 12-year-old Chloe, never once homesick, remarked, “I really hope she doesn’t come back; she was way too negative.” Like, you’re killing the vibe.

Which leads to a full circle moment. While the campaign continues, the cadence of our monthly meetings will slow significantly with our last ‘formal’ meeting taking place later this month. At our penultimate cabinet meeting in May, four members of the camp staff attended the meeting to say thanks and to share the impact the dollars raised (nearly $13m to date) have had on their experience.

Jana, the camp’s General Manager, spoke about how the funds have already made a difference to those who live at the site. Executive Chef, Patrik, described how a renovated kitchen will improve the food and enhance the camper experience, and Taylor, the Assistant Camp Director, shared details about the new wash shacks (camp-speak for shower facilities) and the much-improved staff housing.

It struck us, listening to these testimonials, and as was eloquently pointed out by my friend and fellow cabinet member, Lachlin McKinnon, part of a four generation camp family himself, that for all the spreadsheets, coffee meetings, billboards, golf tournaments, and myriad other fundraisers large and small, successful and less so, that what it all boiled down to in that moment was the basic necessities of life: food and shelter. Our band of committed volunteers, Y management, and outside experts was really doing something very basic. But basic doesn’t mean small. Food and shelter are foundational. They create the conditions for growth, for learning, for laughter. When a kid has a warm yurt to sleep in, nourishing food to eat, and clean facilities to support their health, they can focus on being a kid. On making friends. On becoming a leader. And if we, in some small way, helped enable that—through time, talent or treasure—then, as the kids say, #WorthIt. My kids, no doubt, would point out that the kids don’t actually say that. But I digress.

The fourth member invited to speak to the cabinet that day was none other than my daughter, Chloe. Taking a break from dehydrating apple rings in the camp expedition centre, she spoke (as I beamed) to this room full of mucky mucks, her confidence unshakeable, her love of camp palpable, and her good humour on full display as she rightfully boasted about claiming last summer’s “yurtiest yurt.” 

For a once shy kid who still uses the email handle ‘clumsychloe’ it was pretty neat to see. Over all these years, half her life in fact, camp has given her confidence, independence, and a deep sense of belonging. It let her fail safely and lead proudly. The kind of quiet transformation that sneaks up on you—not overnight, but over summers. It’s the alchemy of camp. And as a parent, witnessing that evolution, it’s impossible not to be moved. Out there, among the trees and canoes and yurts, she grew into herself—and in watching that, I found even more reason to care deeply about this place.

I think the learnings here are many. If you want to make a better world, resist the dystopian doom scrolling and go make a difference. Volunteer. Speak up. Inform yourself. Learn right from wrong and how to tell the two apart. There’s a lot of dark noise out there and too many good voices staying quiet. We are living in a world where promises, even laws, are broken with impunity, grift abounds, principles wane and trust in leaders and institutions plummets. We feel gas-lighted constantly and powerless to change the channel. So, on we scroll.

I dare say, these nearly five years of meetings—talking about a summer camp! (it’s not like we’re curing cancer)—have been about more than wash shacks and hood fans. Like camp itself, the experience grounded me in something simple and good. Especially after a recent stretch of hard months filled with complexity, misalignment, and tough decisions, it’s been a relief to be immersed in problems that have solutions—and surrounded by people whose hearts always feel entirely in the right place. Chairing these meetings has never felt like work, or even like I was giving of my time. If anything, I’ve taken more than I’ve given—energy, clarity, a sense of purpose.

In executive search, we spend our days helping people find meaningful work. But sometimes the deepest meaning comes not from what we’re paid to do, but from what we choose to do. Sometimes leadership isn’t about title or salary or scope. Sometimes it shows up in the quiet confidence of a camp staffer, the commitment of a chef improving meals for young strangers, or the bright voice of your own daughter speaking to a room full of donors.

I hate to sound preachy. You do you. But, for what it’s worth, if you want to feel better about the world, help make it better. Raise your hand. Step in. Step up. Do the thing. It doesn’t have to be a Big Thing, like saving democracy or restoring decency or calling out the kind of behaviour that makes you want to throw the remote. It might be as simple as a hot meal and a warm bunk. If nothing else, maybe you won’t solve the problems of the world but at least you’ll be distracted from them.

And as for that wise friend’s advice? I think I’ve come to understand it more fully. You are only as happy as your least happy kid. And this month, at least, I’m a very happy dad. Somewhere in all this—between the yurts and the spreadsheets, the golden retriever reels and the heartfelt speeches—I found something that does, in fact, feel spiritual. A connection to purpose, to people, to place. And for that, I’m profoundly grateful. Point made.

Wishing a happy Father’s Day to all who celebrate—and to those who simply show up with care, every darn day.

Regards, 

Adam