Camino Institute: reflections from Adam, Noah, and Paul
Our three individual responses to the question introduced in last week's post: "Why offer a young men's seminar in this day and age?"
I’m really excited about this post for two reasons. First, because it’s a cool topic. Second, because it’s the first time I’ve had guest contributors—and I’m honored to have Adam and Noah be the first. If you haven’t read last week’s post, which set the context for this one, be sure to check it out before you keep reading. Here’s a link:
Having read that, you know that what follows comprises three individual responses to the same question. Adam, Noah, and I purposely avoided discussing or reviewing each other’s thoughts to ensure we wouldn’t influence each other.
Now that these are published, we’re taking some time to reflect upon all three responses, and then we’ll gather to record a conversation about them. That will be released in a podcast format in the coming weeks.
So, here we go.
A MAN IN HIS TWENTIES lays out time and money to travel to an underdeveloped part of a Caribbean island. He does so in the company of other guys who are mostly just acquaintances—some he hasn’t ever met in person. He does this knowing he won’t be relaxing on a beach; in fact, he’ll get up before sunrise to do hard work and stay up late having hard conversations.
Why? Why a young men’s seminar in this day and age?
Adam’s thoughts
Adam is Camino’s co-founder and currently serves as Director of Service and Justice Programs at McQuaid Jesuit in Rochester, where he served as Principal from 2015-2023. He holds a master’s degree in Educational Leadership from Stanford, and bachelor’s degrees in History and Music.
“They Used to Be Ahead in the American Economy. Now They’re Behind.”
“Many Gen Z Men Feel Left Behind.”
“Why Young Men Are Failing to Launch.”
These are actual headlines from just the past few months, capturing a growing sense, reflected in ample research, that young men are not okay. Long thought to have enjoyed real advantages borne of the long tail of patriarchy and privilege, contemporary young men increasingly express a sense of aimlessness and anomie. These feelings manifest themselves in statistics showing boys and young men falling behind academically and struggling in the labor market.
To be clear, when we launched the Young Men’s International Seminar at Camino back in 2022, we were not designing or intending it to be “medicine” for this trend. Nonetheless, it’s an important backdrop to what we do intend, which is to take our four mantras—travel with purpose, disconnect to reconnect, focus on what matters, and be of service—and apply them specifically to the question of what it means to be a young man in today’s day and age.
While traveling has long been recognized as a tonic for all sorts of ailments, traveling with a particular purpose in mind—what we call ‘pilgrimage’ at Camino—brings special opportunity. I often tell my students that what they see depends on where they stand, and the act of physically being somewhere else, ideally someplace very different and perhaps a bit challenging, will naturally offer a new perspective on what’s been happening back home. For participants in the YMS, it’s an opportunity to “zoom out and observe,” in the words of Rick Rubin, as opposed to zooming in and obsessing.
This zooming in and obsessing is facilitated by our tethering to digital technology, and while research suggests that the impact of social media and the like has been particularly harmful to young women, Jonathan Haidt and others have found evidence—both in data and in anecdote—that the negative effect is very real for young men, too. That’s why Camino’s offer to disconnect is so important. By setting aside the phone and other distractions, participants in YMS create the mental and emotional space for reconnecting—with themselves, with their hopes and desires, and with their fellow travelers—creating that elusive sense of close relationship with others that young men often lack but so clearly crave.
We believe Camino offers a chance to focus on what matters, a precious chance to separate the signal from the noise. What I have often found is that few young men have ever really pondered this question—“What matters to you?”—much at all. The ability to curate a program of reflection and discussion attuned specifically to the lives and hopes of young men is particularly important here. The cumulative effect of the YMS experience, mediated by these good and deep conversations, is often a clearer sense of what matters, and perhaps a newfound perspective on what doesn’t. And, perhaps most importantly, it can also serve as an important reminder that you, as a young man with gifts and potential, matter, too.
And finally, as the director of service at an all-boys high school, I can extol the virtues of service to others in my sleep. But for young men in particular, an invitation to the type of service a Camino cohort engages in, focused on an encounter with real people, often living in poor or difficult circumstances, is sometimes precisely what’s needed. Service is fundamentally focused on the other, but it often leads to deep insight about the self—one’s own gifts, potential, and capacity for goodness. And while it can be physically and emotionally challenging, it is an antidote to the cynicism that can embroil young men who feel purposeless, unfocused, and disconnected. It might just be the spark that leads a young man to consider work in what Richard Reeves calls the “HEAL” professions: health care, education, administration, and literacy, fields that are similarly focused on the other.
These four mantras of Camino are all intended to work in sync, of course, and combined they are a recipe for a powerful and timely experience for young men looking to launch lives of purpose, connection, focus, and service—in short, to find the right spot on their own personal camino, no longer behind.
Noah’s thoughts
Noah is a well-traveled Camino Institute adjunct who joined our leadership team in 2023 after participating in the first YMS in 2022. He is an aspiring attorney who holds bachelor’s degrees in Biomedical Sciences and Philosophy in Politics and Economics from the University at Buffalo.
Do you remember the last time you could just sit and exist? A moment where your mind and body were still? If you’re anything like me, life’s responsibilities render these opportunities exceedingly rare. Even when they present themselves, a sense of guilt often accompanies them. Many of us have learned that productivity is the mark of value and stillness conflicts with this penchant for getting things done. This pressure is especially perceptible for people like myself who are navigating the weighty responsibilities of early adulthood. There's a lot to figure out between school, careers, and relationships, and there’s not enough time for any of it.
For a long time, this stress left me uncomfortable with these opportunities for stillness. I’d be interrupted by the temptation to check emails, plan my schedule for the next week, or even distract myself with social media, all tasks I deemed more valuable. If my life were a pie chart, it would’ve looked like this: two big slices for work and study, two moderate slices for gym and chores, and a small slice for free time with friends and family.
What’s the problem with this, you ask? Well, over the last few years, I’ve realized that these moments of stillness are crucial. Our minds become cluttered and tired amidst the whirlwind of life’s obligations, but these peaceful moments impart a mental clarity that provides a reprieve from the business of our own minds, which is worthwhile in itself. However, perhaps even more importantly, they offer a valuable opportunity for reflection—a chance to utilize a clearer headspace to examine our lives in a way we usually aren’t able to.
Now, I don’t think the solution to this imbalance is pulling a Chris McCandless and abandoning the day-to-day. It’s a tempting proposition in the face of mounting responsibilities—one that convinced me to live out of my car out west after graduating college—but it isn’t very sustainable. Work, family, and health are all important, and I think that many of us want to embrace these responsibilities. But, to be our best selves when facing these obligations, saving a small slice of pie for the little moments in between is essential.
So, assuming many of us feel the same—that we aren’t going to radically change our lives and chase Thoreauvian fantasies—where does that leave us? How do we find these moments amidst our busy schedules to experience stillness and the accompanying benefits? Well, for me, that began when I went to the Dominican Republic with the Camino Institute in 2022. The slowed pace of life in the Dominican countryside provided the perfect opportunity to disconnect and enjoy the sense of presence I’d been struggling to find. However, life leaves most of us out of practice, so embracing this and delving into clearer reflection still felt a bit uncomfortable.
Through my involvement as a participant and an adjunct for these seminars, I’ve realized that this is why a group setting is so crucial. It’s like getting through a tough workout or a challenging class with other people, where leaning into your shared experience gives you strength. As guys slowly buy into the unfamiliar groove of Dominican life, we’re all encouraged to embrace the discomfort of the whole experience, including these opportunities for presence and reflection.
I think that a fundamental reason for our reticence is that we fall into the trap of thinking we’re alone in our challenges. Speaking from experience, we struggle to escape this mindset because it’s a self-affirming feedback loop. As we buy into the narrative that we’re alone, we become increasingly isolated from each other and aren’t able to hear any evidence that says otherwise. I think that one of the most important components of these seminars is their potential to disrupt this loop. As we’re given the opportunity to hear others talk about their lives, we realize we aren’t alone. This creates a camaraderie that inspires confidence and comfort in approaching our challenges.
While breaking down the barriers and lending to better reflection, opening up to each other brings us closer together. This provides a level of intimacy that we rarely experience. I’m talking about the connection you feel with people who you talk to about yourself openly and the freedom that comes with this vulnerability. You know those cherished “deep” conversations that go into the late hours of the night? That’s what I’m referring to. Because of this intimacy, we’re able to dig a bit deeper.
My seminar was an incredibly formative experience. I truly felt as though it filled a void in my life that I wasn’t even aware of before my trip. When I returned home, I was able to bring what I learned with me, and am now more equipped to tackle life’s challenges. I feel more comfortable slowing down, harnessing these moments of presence, and engaging with myself and others more openly and authentically.
Paul’s thoughts
Paul is Camino’s co-founder and teaches part time at Canisius High School. He owns PJC Editorial, a freelance editorial services company. He holds a BA in English from Canisius College, an M.Litt from St. Andrew’s in Scotland, and an MS in Educational Leadership from St. Joseph’s University. He’s married with three kids.
There’s a lot of noise out there these days about what it means to be a man, and plenty of misleading, confusing, and sometimes ugly stuff on offer to young guys looking for what’s genuine. We offer an alternative to all the noise—a weeklong, nonsense-free ethical appeal to a durable model of male adulthood.
That ethical appeal comes from a few elements. One is discipline grounded in structure. Another is material simplicity. We balance purposeful activity with intentional inactivity. Another part is hard work alongside guys from another culture who show the measure of a man isn’t net worth, but rather his commitment to faith, family, and community. And that in those commitments lies an abiding joy much deeper than the shallow stuff that tries to pass itself off as happiness.
Young men come to Camino for different reasons—there’s a spectrum of motivation. On one end, you find the ones I’ll call the adventurers. I think most of the guys who do our trips fit this category. They’re in good shape. While they might have some stuff to square away, things are more or less in order. They’re not facing down a quarter-life crisis. They go for excitement and companionship; to do something cool and help someone while they’re at it. It’s also a chance to disrupt bad habits and build some good ones.
Some adventurers are nearing consequential junctures—graduation, a career change, engagement, marriage, or fatherhood. They want a space of clarity, free of distractions and far from their typical routines. A space that facilitates discernment about their patterns, their qualities, their challenges, their relationships, their desires, and their aspirations. They want to get stronger. They want to learn from others. And, of course, they’re keen to be of service to people in need. It’s a quest of sorts, and young men need a quest—especially if their days involve principally navigating spreadsheets.
Guys at the other end of the spectrum—I’ll call them the seekers—aren’t so squared away. Some of them are in the midst of a quarter-life crisis, to some extent. No, they don’t come to Camino looking for therapy; they know we aren’t therapists. But these guys are trying to solve for something deep. To break patterns, tune out distractions, and get to the essential stuff. They’re rarely lost, but they often lack direction; just as often, they’re lonely.
Maybe they seek a type of initiation experience that they either never had at all, or, if they did, it was insufficient to help them level up fully from adolescence. They know this, and it’s gnawing at them. Often, fear has them trapped to some extent—paralysis by analysis in most cases, in need of creative disruption. They want to do something that matters unambiguously, because their days feel ambiguous when it comes to meaning. They’re hungry for a significant challenge oriented around a clear purpose. Ideally, in service to others. They want—very much—to be useful to someone else.
Whether the men who join us are adventurers or seekers—or, as is usually the case, a blend of both—they have something in common. They want to journey specifically in the company of other men. They want honest vulnerability, and both intuition and experience tell them that’s most feasible in an all-male space. It’s not that they can’t relate to women. Everyday life in our culture is co-ed, after all. Ironically, it’s often the opposite: they have a relational gap in the other direction. They’ve made the same painful discovery that most men do—that friendships tend to fade from the vital warmth of boyhood, and that loneliness is the default without serious effort. And, like so many other guys, they’re left isolated in their twenties without the kind of deep male bonds and friendships they know in their soul that they so vitally need.
Forget the cliché that men are all emotionally repressed and just need to cry. It’s not that simple. Plenty of guys are emotionally repressed, and they do need a space to tap into those feelings. But we don’t spend our time sitting in circles crying together. Yes, sometimes there are tears, but that is not the aim or some sort of twisted measure of efficacy. Nor do our programs involve weird rite-of-passage rituals like smashing things with axes while letting out primal screams of rage.
So what are guys in our seminars doing? They’re leaving their comfort zones and traveling to an unfamiliar place. That alone is a crucial pilgrimage. Our packing list fits in a carry-on. They arrive to a campus that’s far from spartan, but not luxurious. They sleep in twin-sized bunks on just okay mattresses, and share close quarters in simple cabins. There are toilets and showers, but no hot water. Fans, but no a/c. Usually, there’s electricity for lights and fans and refrigeration. But not always. It goes out often. We have Adirondack chairs, hammocks in the shade, and beautiful gardens.
We don’t have a TV. We have wifi both for safety and connectivity, but upon arrival, they turn off their phones, let go, and lock them up in our safe. Released from cheap hits of dopamine, they experience the liberation of a true digital detox impossible in regular daily life. For many, this may be the most freeing element of their trip. They can’t believe how good it feels. They spend time looking others in the eyes instead of down at screens. More time looking up, taking in a pastel sunrise, an electric blue afternoon sky, a fiery sunset, or a starlit night. To turn one’s gaze upward is no small thing.
We rise early to the crowing of roosters, pour a cup of the world’s best coffee, and spend sacred silent time in reading, journaling, prayer, or meditation while the sun rises over the ridge to the east. It’s an amazing thing, to see a group of them gathered on our upper deck as the sky slowly lightens, reveling not in conversation, but in silent communion.
We gather before breakfast to share intentions, then put in hours of tough manual labor to help someone else. It’s simple work, but it’s hard work, and it’s so different from what most of us spend our days doing back home. It’s repetitive labor without distraction, in the company of other men, including men from a different culture, speaking a different language. We get absolutely soaked in sweat, and filthy with concrete and dirt. We exhaust ourselves physically, doing tangible, visible work that depends on the strength of our arms and backs. We get a dose of humility, being pushed to our physical limits. But there’s a simultaneous affirmation in hard work, shoulder to shoulder, all for someone else’s benefit. There’s a kind of cleansing that happens for many of these guys as the accumulated bullshit of their entry-level desk jobs gets expelled along with the sweat.
After work, it’s back to our campus to get clean under a cool shower. A dinner of simple, healthy food. For those who want a drink, we have some very cold beer. The younger guys take cues from the older ones here. They see that men can commune over drinks in moderation. That excess is not the measure of quality or strength. That restraint and moderation are markers of something else, something more admirable: that in genuine companionship, there’s nothing to prove. Conversations over dinner are rambling—career paths, personal finance, travel adventures, the travails of romantic relationships. We laugh a lot over meals.
And then, as evening settles, we talk more deeply, with structure. We gather in those Adirondack chairs under the starlit Caribbean sky, far from light pollution, and talk about real stuff, honestly. Adam and I are the pace-setters, the facilitators, the older, mid-career mentors with gray in our beards. Two guys in their forties. I, in my fifteenth year of marriage and the father of three kids. Adam, a single professional who’s made a career of institutional leadership and is well versed in management principles. Noah, our adjunct, is the generational liaison—a remarkably accomplished guy in his mid-twenties with a compelling life story. He’s an old soul, keenly connected to our mission and philosophy—yet in tune by proximity with the generation we’re serving.
We’re exploring concepts both spiritual and intellectual, leaning on the literary, theological, psychological, and philosophical traditions at the heart of a classical liberal education. It’s intentionally apolitical. It is, to the relief of everyone involved, neither MAGA nor woke. That stuff is trivial noise by comparison; it is not at the heart of what matters—and so much of politics lies in the shallows. We’re about the deeper waters. We’re engaging tough questions. We’re articulating struggles and sharing insights about what has worked and what hasn’t as we’ve wrestled with those challenges.
We’re challenging them, pushing them, but not too hard. After all, we’re not therapists. We’re teachers and mentors—fellow men at different stages of life. It’s about self, family, friends, relationships, and God. We talk about faith, including the implicit struggles involved with it. It’s about distilling the truth and articulating the reality of suffering as core parts of being a man—failures, compulsions, addictions, damages, fears, and insecurities. The unresolved questions of desire and identity that can knock young men off balance. Amidst all this, there’s a gathering of strength amidst the witness of each other’s struggles. That is part of the gift.
But it isn’t just about confrontation with suffering. It’s just as much about sharing and celebrating the wellsprings of hope and joy and love and purpose and direction that drive the heart and soul. It’s about the excitement and joy of aspirations and hopes and plans. It’s about defining a vision by discerning the most authentic desires that lie in the deepest part of us, and recognizing that they align most fully with what God hopes for us. And, of course, amidst all of this, there’s plenty of humor, and frequent smiles. There’s a lot of joy in these journeys.
The Camino experience is, as I’ve often said, about becoming more fully human. And so many things are telling us that young men today need a space to do just that. That’s what we’re offering. That’s the value proposition, and I think it’s a compelling one.
Up next: podcast discussion
Our conversation about these responses is now live. Give it a listen here:
