Field Note #8: Confidence Comes From Competence

"A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor."— Proverb

There is a common misconception that confidence precedes action; that before we can lead, adapt, or solve difficult problems, we must first feel prepared. We often wait for the moment when uncertainty disappears, believing that confidence is the prerequisite for stepping into challenge. Yet decades of psychological research suggest the opposite. Confidence is rarely the starting point. More often, it is the outcome.

Albert Bandura's work on self-efficacy fundamentally changed how we understand human development. Across decades of research, Bandura demonstrated that the most powerful source of confidence is not praise, encouragement, or even knowledge. It is what he called mastery experiences—the accumulation of evidence that we have successfully navigated difficult situations before. Every obstacle we overcome quietly becomes proof that we are capable of overcoming the next.

This is one of the reasons I continue to believe so deeply in the transformative power of camp.

While camp is often celebrated for what it provides young people, I have become increasingly convinced that it is equally one of the most extraordinary developmental environments for emerging professionals. Few workplaces ask young adults to exercise such constant judgment while simultaneously caring for the physical, emotional, and psychological well-being of others. Even fewer provide opportunities to make hundreds of meaningful decisions every single day.

The work is beautifully unpredictable.

Every morning begins with a plan. By afternoon, that plan has often evolved. Weather shifts. A camper becomes homesick. A conflict emerges between friends. An activity doesn't unfold as expected. Equipment breaks. Energy levels change. A child discovers unexpected courage. Another needs quiet encouragement to take the next step. Each moment asks the same question of the adults leading the experience:

"How will you respond?"

Those moments rarely have perfect answers.

Instead, they require observation, critical thinking, emotional regulation, collaboration, creativity, and sound judgment. These are not competencies that develop through lectures alone. They are forged through repeated cycles of experience, reflection, adaptation, and practice.

Educational theorist David Kolb described learning as an ongoing cycle in which concrete experiences are transformed into knowledge through reflection and experimentation. Experience by itself is not enough. Reflection without action is equally incomplete. Growth occurs through the continual movement between doing, thinking, adjusting, and trying again.

Camp accelerates that cycle in ways few environments can.

A counselor modifies an activity because the group is disengaged. Within minutes, they know whether the adjustment worked. A unit leader tries a different approach to resolving conflict and immediately observes how campers respond. A program facilitator redesigns an activity because of changing weather, reflects on the outcome that evening, and applies those lessons the very next morning. The feedback loop between challenge and learning is remarkably short, allowing competence to develop at an extraordinary pace.

This summer has been a vivid reminder of that process.

For weeks, our staff navigated persistent heat advisories that required continual adaptation. Schedules shifted to avoid peak temperatures. Water breaks became intentional parts of programming rather than interruptions. Activities moved beneath tree cover, into shaded shelters, or were redesigned entirely. Staff learned not only to recognize the physical signs of heat-related illness, but also to monitor the emotional energy of campers whose excitement often exceeded their awareness of physical limits.

These adjustments were not found in a single handbook.

They emerged through thoughtful decision-making, collaborative problem solving, and countless moments of observation.

Just as these adaptations began to feel familiar, another challenge arrived.

Air quality advisories replaced heat as the primary concern. Once again, carefully constructed schedules were rewritten. Outdoor adventures became indoor experiences. Programs were reimagined within entirely different constraints. The variables changed, but the expectation remained the same: provide a safe, meaningful, and joyful experience for every camper.

What fascinated me most was not the emergence of another obstacle.

It was the evolution of the people responding to it.

Early in the summer, uncertainty often sounded like, "What should we do?" or "Can someone help us make this decision?" Those questions were entirely appropriate. Experience had not yet provided enough evidence for confidence to emerge.

Weeks later, the conversations had changed.

Instead of waiting for answers, staff arrived with possibilities.

"We've thought through a few options."

"Here's how we can modify the activity while still meeting our objectives."

"This worked during the heat advisories. I think we can build from that."

The air quality challenge was different from the heat.

The confidence wasn't.

The obstacle mattered less than the learning that had already taken place. Staff were no longer simply responding to environmental conditions; they were drawing upon a growing reservoir of lived experience. They had developed something far more valuable than a checklist.

They had developed judgment.

Psychologists sometimes distinguish between routine expertise and adaptive expertise. Routine experts become exceptionally skilled at solving familiar problems. Adaptive experts are able to transfer what they have learned into situations they have never encountered before. In an increasingly unpredictable world, adaptive expertise may be one of the most valuable capacities we can cultivate.

This is precisely what experiential education has always sought to accomplish.

The goal has never been to prepare someone for every possible situation.

That would be impossible.

The goal is to prepare people to respond thoughtfully when they encounter situations they have never seen before.

Positive psychology offers another lens through which to understand this transformation. Martin Seligman's research on learned optimism suggests that resilient individuals are not those who avoid adversity, but those who come to see challenges as temporary, specific, and workable. Likewise, Donald Meichenbaum's work on stress inoculation demonstrates that manageable challenges, experienced within supportive environments, strengthen our ability to navigate future stressors with greater effectiveness. Resilience is not built by avoiding discomfort. It is built by encountering difficulty, reflecting on the experience, and discovering that we are more capable than we previously believed.

Camp offers exactly this kind of environment.

The challenges are authentic. The responsibility is real. The stakes matter because they involve the care of young people. Yet these challenges exist within a community of mentors, peers, and leaders who provide guidance without removing ownership. Staff are supported, but they are also trusted. They are coached, but they are expected to think. They are encouraged, but they are given space to discover their own capacity.

That balance is essential.

Growth requires challenge.

Growth also requires support.

Developmental psychologists have long understood that meaningful learning occurs when those two conditions coexist. Too little challenge leads to complacency. Too much challenge without support leads to discouragement. Camp occupies that remarkable middle ground where individuals are continually stretched while never being left entirely on their own.

As leaders, there is an important lesson embedded within this observation. Our instinct is often to remove obstacles for those we mentor because we care deeply about their success. Yet every problem we solve on someone else's behalf is a developmental opportunity they no longer have. Effective leadership is not measured by how many answers we possess, but by how effectively we cultivate the judgment of others.

Sometimes mentoring means offering direction.

More often, it means asking thoughtful questions, creating space for reflection, and trusting people enough to wrestle with uncertainty while knowing they are not alone.

By the end of this summer, our seasonal staff will certainly know more about camp operations, youth development, and risk management than they did on opening day. Those lessons matter. Yet I suspect the knowledge they will carry with them long after camp closes is something much deeper.

They will remember discovering that they could adapt when conditions changed.

They will remember making difficult decisions with incomplete information.

They will remember finding solutions they could not have imagined during staff training.

Most importantly, they will remember becoming the kind of people who no longer wait for confidence before acting because experience has quietly taught them something far more enduring.

Confidence is not something we find.

It is something we build.

One thoughtful decision, one unexpected challenge, and one mastered experience at a time.