Meri Tanaka

I expected that I was going to experience something that I
would never forget - possibly,
a life changing event.

The first time I saw the picture of the Squam Lake on someone's blog, I was hooked.

Making the decision to go to Squam was almost instant. I can't remember now what it was that was so appealing - was it the sparkling sunlight on the lake? was it the people relaxing on one of the piers in bathing suits?  Or, was it the picture of people cozily gathered and knitting in a wooden cabin?

I have been living in Japan all my life except for a year in California almost 10 years ago, but I have traveled quite a on my own for both business and holiday and I had gotten really tired of eating at an amazing bistro in Paris alone, or seeing amazing paintings in museums all by myself.

So, going to an art workshop in the beautiful middle of nowhere with a whole lot of people seemed like a perfect idea.  Still, from the moment I signed up for Squam until actually arriving there, I had no idea what I was doing nor where I was going. I knew nobody except for a person I was sharing a ride from the airport. I did not know where I would be staying, nor how many people would be there--but I expected that I was going to experience something that I would never forget - possibly a life changing event.

The moment my shuttle-mate and I arrived at the site, Elizabeth, the amazing person who made it happen, and all the other people welcomed us wholeheartedly. I was introduced to my cabin mates, Caryn and Shelly, and we instantly became close.

When you grow older and when all your friends get married, and especially if you work for a very conservative financial institution, you don't get enough time with female companionship. Come to think of it, for most of my life since high school, I had been in predominantly masculine environments. I didn't know until now that being surrounded by all-energetic and creative female souls is that refreshing and can restore your soul.

Our cabin was small, cozy and old. There were paintings on the wall, jigsaw puzzles, and diaries, left by people who stayed there before us. I spent one evening reading the diary entries in front of the fireplace. Most of the cabins are facing the lake. There is a small pier in front of each cabin. In the evening, people, one by one, come down to the lakeside, and spent truly relaxing and tranquil time, often with a drink in hand, sharing their life stories in calm voice.

Each one of us had a story or two or a lot more. I don't usually talk about my stories to anyone. On a rare occasion that I do, I only share a small and different bit to each person. So it was very strange that there, in the small cabin by the lake, it had felt very right to share my story in full. The time we spent at Squam was really about "us". We were allowed to be as self-indulgent as we liked. It felt just right.

Apart from the mental restoration, all of us were well-fed (with someone else cooking for us 3 times a day!), better exercised (by walking about 10 min. one way to get to the cafeteria to eat), our creativity thoroughly kindled, and we were satisfied by chatting so much from the moment we woke up till the moment we fell asleep.

To Squam, everyone came with some expectation. And every single person I met at the camp had an experience beyond their imagination. I was completely right about the "life changing event" expectation. The people, the positive energy, the creativity floating in the crisp cold air, reflections of sunlight on the lake, food, fireplace in the evening, smell of smoke and pine needles, endless chatters, tears, laughter. Above all, amazing new friends.

Many people wrote and said that you cannot explain the Squam experience to anyone who wasn't there. I fully agree. So we just have to go back there to talk about it. I went back there this year for the reunion, made a whole lot of new friends, and we miss each other so much. I came from the furthest place of all the participants, and I can assure you it is worth every mile I travel!

http://www.sparklesunited.com