This summer, we took our children on their first-ever tent camping trip, and somehow it felt fitting that the place we chose was Lake McConaughy, or Lake Mac, as most Nebraskans call it. Yes, you heard that right: tent camping with two little kiddos beside the water, sleeping together on foam and blankets, cooking our meals outside, navigating the heat, the sand, the crowds, and even an unexpected thunderstorm. It was not the easiest or most effortless family trip we have ever taken, but it became one of the most meaningful, especially for me, because it was not only our children’s first camping experience. It was also a quiet but significant step in my own journey of learning how to travel, rest, and live freely again.

This was not my first time at Lake Mac. In fact, I had already been there several times before this trip, and my first encounter with the lake happened almost by accident when my husband and I were moving back to Nebraska from Los Angeles. We were driving from California with our U-Haul, coming through Colorado and making our way toward home, when we needed somewhere to stay for the night. We arrived at Lake McConaughy after dark, without really knowing what the area looked like, and we certainly did not realize how deep and soft the sand could be. Our U-Haul ended up getting stuck, and the following morning, an enormous tractor had to pull us out.

At the time, it probably felt like an inconvenient and stressful interruption in an already long cross-country move, but what I remember most clearly now is waking up the following morning and finally seeing the lake in daylight. I was completely surprised by its beauty. I had imagined the kind of lake I was familiar with seeing in the Midwest, perhaps with darker water and muddy shorelines, something pleasant but not necessarily extraordinary. Instead, there was this immense body of clear water surrounded by pale, sandy beaches. We stayed long enough to swim, eat lunch near the shore, and spend part of the day enjoying this unexpected place before continuing our journey home.

We returned the following year and brought a friend with us, and somewhere around that time, I began thinking that Lake Mac should become an annual tradition. There was something about it that reminded me of home. I was born and raised in the Philippines, where we are surrounded by water and spending time near the ocean is simply part of life, and even when I later lived in Los Angeles, the Pacific was never very far away. Living in the Midwest is very different. There is so much beauty in the prairie and its enormous stretches of land, but after spending much of my life near the ocean, I sometimes miss that feeling of looking out and seeing nothing but water disappearing into the horizon. Lake Mac gives me a little piece of that here in Nebraska. Standing on its sandy beach and looking across such a vast stretch of water, for a moment, it almost feels like being beside the ocean again.

There is an otherworldly quality to the place, especially when the sun begins to set and the light stretches across the water and sand. At times, it does not feel as though you are in western Nebraska at all. It feels like you have traveled to another state, another country, or somewhere much farther away from ordinary life. I do not say that lightly, either. I grew up surrounded by beaches in the Philippines, and I have been fortunate enough to experience coastlines in Mexico, California, Spain, and along the Mediterranean. I have seen tropical water, coral reefs, blue ocean beaches, and some of the most beautiful shorelines in the world, and yet Lake McConaughy remains one of my favorite places to swim and spend time beside the water.

For me, it is special because of how uncomplicated it feels. There is soft sand, clear freshwater, no salt clinging to your skin, and fewer of the seaweeds, shells, coral, starfish, and other little ocean creatures that can sometimes make it difficult for me to completely relax in the water. I love the beauty of the beaches in the Philippines, and they truly are tropical paradises, but I have always been someone who wants to sit in the water, stretch out on the shore, and rest without wondering what might be brushing against my feet. At Lake Mac, the simplicity is part of the beauty. The water feels clean, the beach is open, and you can establish your camp only a short distance from the shoreline.

Of course, it is not entirely without challenges. During the summer, the heat can feel almost desert-like, especially in the middle of the day when there is very little protection from the sun. The temperature can be extremely hot during the afternoon and then surprisingly cool and pleasant at night. It also takes us about three hours to drive there, which is long enough to require preparation when traveling with young children. Still, once we arrive, there is a sense of ease that makes the drive feel worthwhile.

After we began having children, several years passed without us returning. Our oldest had visited once when she was still very young, during a trip with some of my friends from the Philippines, who also loved how much the lake felt like a true beach despite being in Nebraska. Then we had another baby, life became fuller, and traveling anywhere began to require considerably more planning. We did not return for about three years.

This summer, we finally came back as a family of four, and this time we decided to camp.

Tent camping at Lake Mac had not actually been our original plan. Because it was our first time camping with both children, we initially wanted to stay somewhere closer to home, somewhere familiar enough that we could easily leave if the experience became too difficult. The local recreation area we had considered was full, however, and we could not find a campsite that felt right for us. Eventually, we decided that if we were going to make the effort, we might as well drive to a place we already knew we would enjoy.

We arrived on a Saturday afternoon, which I would probably not recommend for someone hoping to easily find a peaceful spot during the busiest part of summer. It was the weekend before school started for many families, and it seemed as though everyone had decided to make one final trip to the lake. The beach was crowded, vehicles were everywhere, and at one point our truck became stuck in the sand while we were trying to find somewhere to settle. For a little while, the arrival felt more stressful than relaxing.

Eventually, however, we found the perfect place for our family, and once we began setting everything up, the chaos of arriving started to fade. My husband pitched the tent while I helped where I could and kept an eye on the kids, and we placed a canopy beside it where we could keep our food and spend time in the shade. We arranged foam and blankets inside the tent for sleeping, brought out the children’s toys, and slowly turned a small section of the beach into our temporary home.

One thing that was noticeably different about Lake Mac this year was how low the water level had become. It had been an unusually dry year across much of the Midwest and Colorado, with less snow and less runoff making its way downstream, and you could actually see the effect of that dryness along the shoreline. In previous years, I remembered being able to walk quite a distance into shallow water before it gradually became deeper, but this time the edge of the lake looked more exposed, with a visible drop in the sand where the waterline had receded. Once you stepped into the water, it seemed to become deep much more quickly.

It was strange seeing a place I had visited several times before look so visibly altered by the conditions of that particular year. The lake was still beautiful, and we still enjoyed swimming and spending the day along the beach, but the lower water level changed the shape of the shoreline enough that we had to be more attentive with the kids, especially our youngest, who preferred being held once we were in deeper water. In a way, it became another reminder that even familiar places are never completely static; the landscape changes with the seasons, the weather, and the years, just as our own lives do.

We arrived late enough on the first day that much of our time was spent setting up camp and preparing dinner. My husband grilled chicken, which we ate with rice and tomato salad, and somehow food cooked and eaten outdoors always tastes especially good after a long drive and several hours of carrying, organizing, and settling in. Later that evening, we made s’mores with the children for the first time. Our daughter was not particularly impressed, but our son devoured the entire s’more as though he had been waiting his whole life to discover it.

Sunday was our full day at the lake. We spent the morning swimming, playing in the sand, and floating in the water as families around us slowly packed up and left after the weekend. By midday, the heat had become too intense for the children to comfortably rest at the campsite, so we drove around the Lake McConaughy area while they napped in the air-conditioning. After they woke, we stopped at Runza, had some ice cream, and returned to camp later in the afternoon when the sunlight was softer and the temperature had begun to ease. We swam again, made dinner, and settled into the rhythm of another evening beside the lake. Then, sometime during the night, a thunderstorm arrived.

The wind began pushing against the tent, the rain grew louder, and both children became frightened. We held them close and reassured them while my husband checked the canopy and everything outside, making sure nothing would loosen, blow away, or collapse against the tent. At one point, my daughter became convinced that a helicopter had picked up our tent because the wind was moving it so much. The next morning, she was amazed to discover that the “helicopter” had somehow placed us back in exactly the same spot, which made us laugh. It was one of those moments when the adventure of camping with young children suddenly becomes very real, frightening to them in the moment but also becoming part of the story afterward. They eventually fell asleep while we comforted them, but that storm made my husband and me understand why traveling with an RV could offer a different level of convenience for our family. We had talked about purchasing one before because we wanted to travel more often, but now the idea felt more tangible. Tent camping was beautiful, and I’m grateful we experienced it, but an RV would give us a little more comfort with young children, a place to cool down, nap, cook, and take shelter from the weather while still allowing us to stay close to nature.

More than anything, though, this trip carried a deeper meaning for me because of my recovery from insomnia. For months, I had become very protective of my sleep and accustomed to sleeping alone in my own room, where everything felt familiar and safe. Camping meant leaving all of that behind, sharing a tent with my family, hearing unfamiliar sounds, and waking with the sunrise. But I went anyway, and it became a way of teaching my brain that I could sleep somewhere unfamiliar and that sleep did not need perfect conditions. Even after sleeping very little the first night, I still enjoyed the next day with my family. And on the second night, after a full day outside and even a thunderstorm, I slept for around seven hours.

Perhaps that is why I remember this trip with so much gratitude. It was our children’s first time tent camping, our return to a place I have loved for years, and the beginning of what we hope will become a family tradition. But it was also evidence that my life did not need to become smaller because of my fear of not sleeping. I could still travel. I could still share a tent with my family. I could still be tired and have a meaningful day. I could still watch my children experience the lake for the first time, make s’mores, swim beneath the enormous Nebraska sky, and fall asleep while a storm moved across the beach.

Lake Mac had already held many versions of our story. It was once the place where our U-Haul became stuck during our move from Los Angeles, then a beach we returned to with friends, and later a place we missed during the years when our children were very small. This time, we returned as a family, carrying foam, blankets, toys, food, and all the beautiful inconvenience of traveling with little ones.

The trip was hot, crowded, sandy, unpredictable, and far from perfect, but perhaps perfection was never what made it memorable. What mattered was that we went, that our children loved it, that we stayed through the heat and the storm, and that somewhere between the water, the sunset, and the sound of my family sleeping beside me, Lake Mac became part of our story once again.