The Moments We Don't Put in the Brochure

There is a moment I love watching on an adventure.

It usually isn't the summit, the big view, or the photo everyone will eventually show their parents. It's much smaller.

A kid figures something out.

Maybe they get the stove going and make dinner for their group. They shoulder a pack that felt impossibly heavy a few days earlier. They help a friend through a hard afternoon. They speak up when the group needs a decision.

Or they simply realize, somewhere along the way:

I know how to do this now.

Those are the moments we don't put in the brochure.

They're hard to photograph. They don't necessarily make the Instagram reel. And yet, after more than twenty years of working with kids outside—and plenty of years now raising my own—I think they might be some of the most important moments we give our kids.

Because adventure gives kids a chance to practice being in the world.

And in that practice, they build something we're all hoping to give our kids: confidence, independence, resilience, and a sense that they can figure things out.

The things they can't practice while we're doing it for them

Our kids are busy.

So are we.

School, sports, activities, homework, practices, carpools, calendars. We spend an incredible amount of time trying to give our kids opportunities- and worrying about [what they might be missing out on].

And, if I'm being fair, trying to make things go well for them.

I do this too.

But there are some things our kids can only learn when we're not there to smooth the way. I've written before about [the bravery required of parents when we let our kids go]. But there's another side to that equation: what happens when we're no longer there to smooth the way.

Someone has to make dinner.

The group has to make a decision.

Plans change.

Personalities collide.

It's raining and the tent still has to go up.

A kid has to ask for help, offer help, speak up, listen, try again, and occasionally sit with being uncomfortable.

None of this sounds particularly extraordinary.

That's sort of the point.

Growth rarely looks impressive while it's happening

I've learned this one over and over again.

Growth can look like a tired teenager on a long hike.

It can look like a kid missing home.

It can look like two people figuring out how to get along when they're tired and patience is running thin.

It can even look like failure.

As parents, this can be hard to watch. We want our kids to be happy. We want them to feel successful. We want them to feel confident.

But confidence doesn't usually come first.

Kids don't necessarily feel confident before boarding the plane, meeting a group of strangers, carrying the pack, trying the climb, or spending the night away from home.

They become more confident because they do those things.

One experience at a time, something begins to shift:

Maybe I can do more than I thought I could.

That is very different from us telling them they can do hard things.

They have evidence.

Maybe the better question is: What do they need next?

We spend a lot of time asking where our kids should go.

Where should they go to school? What camp should they attend? What sport should they play? Where should we travel? What's the next activity?

Lately, I'm more interested in a different question:

What does this kid need next?

For one kid, the next step might simply be trying something new.

I went somewhere new. I was nervous. I did it.

For another, it might be belonging—walking into a group where they don't know anyone and discovering they can make a place for themselves. I've seen firsthand how powerful [leaving home and finding belonging somewhere new] can be—for kids and for the parents learning to let them go.

As they grow, maybe they need more independence. More responsibility. A bigger challenge. A chance to serve someone else. An opportunity to actually lead.

And, of course, the answer is different for every kid.

I've raised enough kids and worked with enough of them to know that there is no perfectly designed progression toward adulthood.

Which is probably inconvenient for those of us raising them.

And sometimes we don't get to see it

This may be my favorite part.

Growth doesn't always announce itself at pickup.

A kid may come home with a dirty duffel bag, a few ridiculous stories, and absolutely no interest in participating in the meaningful reflection we imagined we'd have on the drive home.

Sometimes what they gained doesn't show up until much later.

Maybe it appears when they walk into a college dorm and know they can find their place among strangers.

Maybe it's years later, when they are the coworker who notices someone struggling and steps in to help.

Maybe it's the adult who can enter a room where they don't know anyone, solve a problem when the plan falls apart, ask for help when they need it, or trust themselves when something feels hard.

We may never be able to trace those moments back to one summer, one trail, one camp, or one group of people.

Growth rarely works that neatly.

But every time we give our kids the chance to try, belong, struggle, contribute, lead, and discover what they are capable of, we're investing in the adults they're becoming.

Years later, they may remember the mountain they climbed or the river they paddled.

But I hope they carry something else, too.

A little more confidence in their ability to walk into the wider world and find their place in it.