**Campfires in Estero: Finding Solace in the Social Comfort Zone**
There’s a certain kind of space—a sacred one—that allows you to drop your defenses, to be utterly and unapologetically yourself. It's a rare thing, being able to exist in that *social comfort zone*, a place where your thoughts aren't swayed by judgment or ego but instead are nurtured and tested by those who care to listen, really listen. Alone, it's easy to sift through your own mind, confirming or challenging your beliefs without interference. But to find a space with others, where you can expose the vulnerable truth of yourself—where you don’t fear being misunderstood—that’s something truly special.
For me, that place was Estero Beach, Ensenada, México. It wasn’t just the location that made it magic, but the people and the rituals we shared. Jim, JD, and I—we found something in that bird sanctuary by the bay. We weren’t just escaping our daily grind, but actively seeking a kind of restoration. By the time we started these trips, JD and I were both in the thick of workplace struggles. JD was dealing with the weight of lies and the oppression of a toxic boss. I, too, felt out of place at work, uncomfortable and stifled in ways that seemed to grow heavier with each passing week.
The whole thing started as something simple: a kayak fishing trip. I’ve always been an avid fisherman, and it didn’t take long to get Jim and JD hooked on the idea. The thrill of catching something out on the open water was its own reward, but it was what came afterward that cemented those weekends into the most meaningful moments of our lives.
After each day of fishing, we’d return to the shore, tired but exhilarated. That’s when the real therapy began—around the campfire. We’d light it up, crack open some beers or whatever beverage suited the evening, and settle into an easy rhythm of conversation. Classic rock filled the space between our words, and the sounds of the ocean and the crackle of burning wood in the background created the setting. The topics varied—everything from the trivial to the deeply personal—but whatever you brought up, you knew it would be met with honesty, thoughtfulness, and more than a bit of humor look..
For JD and me, those fires became a lifeline. I can’t count the number of times I showed up to Estero Beach feeling mentally drained, only to leave completely renewed. Those conversations helped us process the struggles we faced back home, especially with work. It wasn’t that anyone gave perfect solutions, but the act of talking, of being heard without judgment, gave us the clarity and the courage to face another week. By the time Sunday evening rolled around and we packed up to head back to San Diego, I felt lighter, stronger, ready.
Those campfires weren’t just a brief escape—they were a lifeline. There’s something deeply restorative about spending time with people who see you, who *get* you, without pretense. It wasn’t always about solving the problems, but about feeling understood, knowing that whatever burden you carried, someone else was willing to help you hold it for a while.
I’ll always treasure those nights. Those fires by the beach, the conversations that burned just as brightly as the flames, have become some of the best times of my life. I hope everyone finds their own version of that—a place where you can be true to your thoughts and share them freely. Because when you find it, and when you find the people who make that possible, you hold on to them. They are your greatest confidants, your support system, and sometimes, your saving grace. I know mine were.