Around the Campfire

Dear fellow travelers,

For a long time, I thought I loved campfires. That's true. But only partly.

Actually, I love what happens around the campfire.

People arrive. They sit down. They tell stories. They laugh. They fall silent. They gaze into the flames. And for a moment, it no longer matters who’s important and who isn’t. Who’s successful. Who’s right.

Everyone sits in a circle around the fire. At eye level.

Maybe that's why I love campfires so much. Because they turn people back into people.

I searched for it for a long time. Along the Isar. While traveling. In Chile. In Brazil. At festivals. At retreats. Sometimes I even danced with my imaginary ancestors around a campfire when it was raining and I was cold. I made my own fire staff at a festival , and I danced with it for a while. Later, I danced with fire fans.

Something inside me has always followed this path. Without knowing why.

*

A few years ago, I organized a surprise party. Not for myself. For someone I loved.

He often talked about throwing a big barbecue someday—and at the same time, I knew he’d probably never organize one. Too many details. Too much perfectionism.

So I took care of everything—with the help of family and friends. Grills, drinks, benches, tents, food, music. And later, even a real campfire.

While I was planning the celebration, I noticed something: People who barely knew each other would be gathering there. Children. Adults. Grandparents. A wide variety of backgrounds and personalities.

How do you bring all these people together?

The answer was surprisingly simple. Not networking. Not meet-and-greets. Not pressure.

Game.

So I came up with a Bavarian Olympics. With events for different kinds of talents. For the fast, the skilled, the smart, for kids, for everyone. And when it came to the team names, I realized something: At first, I thought of big animals. Lions. Jaguars. Wolves. But then it felt wrong. Too much competition. Too much pressure to perform.

So they turned into squirrels. Rabbits. Cats. Friendly creatures. The kind you enjoy spending time with.

The surprise was a success. So was the party. But my favorite moment wasn't the barbecue, the food, or the bonfire.

My favorite moment was seeing the children continue to play on their own afterward. The Olympics were long over. But they kept playing. They no longer needed anyone to guide them. They already knew how to have a good time together.

*

Maybe that's my real campfire.

Not the fire. Not the flames. But spaces where people reconnect with one another: with themselves, with others, with their joy, with their sense of play, with their humanity.

I recently realized that I had found that campfire a long time ago.

It fits in a bag. Sometimes it's a set of cards. Sometimes it's a candle. Sometimes it's a circle of people. Sometimes it's a book. Sometimes it's a spaceship.

Sometimes it's simply a space where people are welcome to come as they are.

And for a moment, imagine: We're already sitting by the fire.

With warmth from the heart and a circle where there’s room for everyone,
Jeannette