Hello from Portugal!

Here hiking the Fisherman’s Trail with my friend Blake Boles. Join his newsletter about being Dirtbag Rich. Please, I have a bet with him that I can get him 11 new subscribers and I need that Milka Bar.

Walking all day, working at night. Kinda awesome tbh.

The other day, we were moving along the coast, overlooking the most beautiful cliffs, when rain starts pelting us sideways.

We slogged through the mud. Completely gross feet. Everything soaked.

Eventually, we plop down for lunch by the side of the trail in the bushes, eating sardines, lettuce, and wet bread, laughing about where we were and what we were doing.

Later on, near the end of the day, tired as hell, we could see the place where we were stopping for the night. Maybe a hundred yards away as the crow flies. Hallelujah! Buuuuuut there were two barbed wire fences between us and there.

So instead of risking some crazy cuts by hopping over, we had to walk another two or three kilometers around to finally make it.

When we showed up drenched, the hosts took one look at us and made us soup. Like we were silly Americans who’d bitten off more than they could chew. Kinda true, I guess.

I chose this trip for a few reasons.

Blake is awesome, so there’s that. But also because I wanted to chance to be reminded that I don’t need my phone for everything. That some cool things are also sort of hard. And that everything doesn’t need to be optimized.

It’s not that this hike is heroically difficult by any stretch. It’s just enough friction that everything gets a little complicated. Everything takes a little bit longer. It’s all a bit muddier than normal life.

And what it’s done is made me more focused.

Why This Mattered

Soup tastes better after trudging in the rain.

The destination felt a little more comfortable because we had to go around the barbed wire fence.

The whole thing was more memorable because it wasn’t perfectly smooth.

Friction forces presence. It builds capacity for discomfort. It creates the conditions for real memory.

Most of life now works the opposite way. One-tap solutions and experiences optimized for ease. Phones mostly remove small discomforts immediately.

And look, I love my phone. I’m still using it everyday for hours on this trip. No anti-tech manifesto coming where I heroically chuck my device into the ocean.

But constant ease in the world means kids (and us) get very few reps with real discomfort.

And reality still delivers hardship whether you’re ready for it or not.

It’ll rain and you won’t have your jacket. Your car will get a flat tire. You’ll go to college and struggle to make friends at first. You’ll apply for jobs and get rejected.

Life doesn’t care that you’re used to everything being easy.

Then I Read This Article

A few days into this trip, New York Magazine’s The Cut had an article about “friction-maxxing.” (Thank you Violet for sharing!)

Basically, 2026 should be the year of consciously reintroducing friction into our lives.

Tech bros have spent decades eliminating every inconvenience. This weakens our capacity for real human experience. Constant ease infantilizes adults and especially kids.

Her metaphor? Kids who get distressed minutes after an iPad is taken away.

She’s describing what camp pros have known forever.

Friction isn’t punishment. It’s prep.

It’s also where real memories happen.

The article’s key insight → Life’s real work comes from learning to tolerate and find meaning in ordinary friction.

Yup. That’s it exactly.

Camp Has Been Friction-Maxxing Forever

I don’t think anyone wants to be in the business of making kids’ lives harder for the sake of making kids’ lives harder.

But I do want to be in the business of having kids come to a place they freaking love so much while also having it as a place where everything isn’t a total cakewalk.

Because at camp:

Kids make their own beds.

Kids walk to the dining hall instead of DoorDash-ing to their bunk.

The lake water is cold you first dip in. Summer is hot, and there’s no AC.

They navigate conflicts without texting someone.

There’s sometimes a little boredom between activities.

They work through missing home.

Not some “hardship program.”

It’s just built into the experience. Seamlessly.

And kids love camp while experiencing this friction.

The friction is what makes the memories stick.

It’s the sardines-in-the-bush moments. The walking-around-the-barbed-wire-fence moments. The getting-soaked-and-then-someone-makes-you-soup moments.

At camp, the friction is designed in but feels completely natural.

That’s the genius of it.

Because kids need reps with friction. They need to know they can do hard things.

And camp is where they get those reps while having the time of their lives.

What You’re Actually Doing

We aren’t manufacturing hardship.

We’re running places kids absolutely love that happens to have friction baked in.

While so much of the world smooths out every bump, you’re giving kids something increasingly rare.

A place where things aren’t always easy. Where they sit in the metaphorical bush, eating sardines and laughing about where they are.

That’s not despite the friction.

That’s because of it.

Hours and hours of hiking was a good reminder of why what we do at camp matters so much. Not in some abstract “building character” way, but in a very specific preparing-kids-for-a-world-that-still-has-friction way.

So to that I say, keep doing what you’re doing.

You got this,

Jack

PS - Doug and I are writing about camp a lot more than just this newsletter.

It's on Substack - Write From Camp.

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$99/ year plan (save $200) gets access with the link above

(Plus the $499 Staff Training Blueprint as a big old thank you).​
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