I’m a luxury travel reviewer, so I’ve spent years refining my standards for comfort. I’ve stayed at extraordinary hotels and resorts around the world — properties with the plushest bedding and robes, private infinity pools, dedicated butlers, and absolutely no need to take care of myself while on property. Once you get used to that level of comfort, it’s hard to un-know it.
So when my sister started trying to convince me to attend a women’s retreat at an adult summer camp in Northern California, I was skeptical.
I grew up camping, but stopped doing it over the years
To be fair, I’m not anti-camp. I grew up going to summer camp and even did a fair amount of recreational camping with friends into adulthood. But then I had kids, a life stage that necessitated so much gear schlepping and cleanup that doing so for recreation ceased to appeal. Camping lost its novelty.
Meanwhile, my work as a lifestyle writer moved increasingly toward luxury travel coverage. Over time, I became accustomed to certain elite-level comforts — and, if I’m being honest, attached to them.
My sister asked me to go to an adult summer camp
My sister, whose tastes differ from mine in plenty of ways, recruited two of our closest friends from high school and college to attend, too. It felt like a strategic FOMO operation — and it worked. About a week before the retreat, I finally caved and booked my flight.
I expected rustic accommodations, communal bathrooms, and the general feeling of roughing it.
Instead, I walked into all sorts of surprises.
For one thing, the camp itself had been rebuilt in recent years and felt far more polished than I anticipated — and certainly much more elevated than the Southern California camp of my youth. Our cabin for the four of us had heating and air conditioning, an en-suite bathroom, ample charging ports, and was spotless. The food in the dining hall was genuinely great, including lots of vegetarian options for me.
It felt less like roughing it and more like a conference center situated among trees.
But the accommodations weren’t the only type of comforts that surprised me.
The bigger surprise was realizing how many forms comfort can take that have nothing to do with luxury amenities.
I found comfort in community and rest
There were 175 women at the retreat, and many of them were older than we were. My group ranged from age 48 (me) to 51 (my sister), but many attendees were in their 60s, 70s, and even their upper 80s. There was something unexpectedly grounding about being surrounded by women carrying decades of perspective and experience. The atmosphere felt notably free of performance or pressure.
Then there was another luxury I’d almost forgotten: being an off-duty mom in an adults-only environment. My sister has three kids; my two friends and I each have two. For a few days, nobody needed snacks. Nobody needed a ride somewhere. Nobody was making an impassioned case for me to extend their screen time.
Instead, I had time for things I almost never make space for anymore. I tried to learn Mahjong. I made beaded bracelets and dipped my own candles. I dozed through a sound bath and tried forest bathing.
The activities themselves almost felt beside the point.
Luxury hotels are designed to create comfort. That’s literally their purpose.
But somewhere along the way, I think I’d unconsciously narrowed my own definition of comfort into something highly curated and highly physical — softer sheets, nicer rooms, better amenities.
I left adult summer camp with the reminder that some of the greatest comforts have nothing to do with thread count at all.
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