When I was a kid, I told my dad I wanted to live at the Waldorf Astoria someday. During a business trip with him to New York City, I was mesmerized by its sparkle and castle-like grandeur. I remember thinking, I like fancy.

To this day, I still wonder why people voluntarily trade comfortable beds and hot showers for sleeping bags and bugs. (If you’re an avid camper and have the answer, send me a message.)

As it turns out, my personality lands somewhere between chandeliers and sleeping on the ground. So when a weeklong backpacking trip through the Redwoods with my daughters’ Scout troop came up, I surprised myself by saying yes.

Before we left, I already knew what would test my patience: the mountain of preparation (flying and backpacking), the logistics of group travel and the backcountry campsites with no showers or toilets.

I also decided before we left that I’d approach the trip like a journalist. I’d stay curious instead of critical. I’d complain as little as possible because nobody enjoys traveling with that person.

More importantly, I reminded myself why I was going. I’m acutely aware that I have only about five more years before our daughters leave for college. If I want more memories with them, I have to intentionally create the opportunities. The towering Redwoods, with trees reaching nearly 300 feet into the sky, felt like the idyllic place to do just that.

Here are some things I learned that I wasn’t expecting.

I assumed miles of hiking beneath some of the world’s tallest trees would somehow help me solve a few questions I’ve been wrestling with. It didn’t.

Between packing and unpacking, deciding what to carry on 9-mile hikes, climbing over fallen trees, avoiding stinging nettles, and chatting with fellow hikers, there wasn’t much room for deep reflection.

Maybe that’s the gift of backpacking. It pulls you completely into the present. Instead of problem-solving or overthinking, you’re focused on the next step, the next hill or the next breathtaking view. Sometimes giving your mind a break from the intensity is exactly what it needs.

The kids made a beeline for the chips, candy and ice cream as if we’d released them into Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

Meanwhile, I was thrilled to see a real toilet, a real sink and actual soap.

After several days of backcountry camping, those ordinary conveniences felt downright luxurious. The bag of highly processed Cheez-Its? That was just a bonus.

I expected to miss showers much more than I did.

When you’re surrounded by towering trees and cool 60-degree coastal air, and everyone else is equally dirty, appearances stop feeling so important. A baseball cap and sunscreen are enough.

You become excited about conquering another trail, spotting banana slugs or crawling into your sleeping bag after a long day outdoors.

And when you finally step into a hot shower, your appreciation soars.

The same goes for food. After hiking all day, ramen with chicken and peas tastes like a gourmet meal. Exercise, fresh air and a good book also happen to be a wonderful recipe for deep sleep, even on an inflatable mattress.

One unexpected challenge? Constantly looking for things. Because every day required different gear, we packed and repacked over and over again. I kept thinking there had to be a better system. I’d ask my Eagle Scout husband, but I was trying to move away from my brand as a newbie camper.

One of my daughters offered the simplest advice: “Mom, just keep what you need most on top.” Wise words.

Apparently, putting them into practice is another story.

Experienced campers, I’d love your best packing tips because I’m not interested in spending another trip wondering where I put my headlamp. I hear I should head to YouTube for some sound advice.

One thing backpacking reminded me is that parenting teenagers often means giving them space instead of holding them close.

When teens are with their friends, they’re exactly where they want to be. Parents don’t always get long conversations or heartfelt moments. More often, we get eye rolls while they laugh with each other.

And that’s OK. We took note that they wandered over to the adult site for the occasional hug.

One evening, 10 Scouts and five adults backpacked to Flint Ridge Camp, perched high above the Pacific Ocean. The girls camped on one site while the adults stayed nearby in another.

Hidden by the trees, my daughter Riley called out, “I love you, Mom!”

“I love you too, Riley!” I yelled back, prompting laughter from the other girls. And then her sister, Sydney, followed.

It was a tiny moment I’ll treasure.

I was incredibly impressed watching these Scouts hike like athletes. Carrying full backpacks, they tackled steep trails with determination, laughter and even songs.

Each morning they packed up camp with remarkable efficiency, deflating sleeping pads, rolling sleeping bags, stuffing pillows and taking down tents without complaint.

I never once found myself waiting for them. These girls were a powerhouse.

Will I become someone who camps alone? Absolutely not. If I come face-to-face with a bear, or even an unidentified shadow in the middle of the night, I definitely want other people nearby.

But would I backpack through the Redwoods or somewhere else again?

Without hesitation.

I came home with sore legs, a deeper appreciation for hot showers and an even greater appreciation for this season of life with my daughters.

Five years from now, they’ll be building lives of their own. Right now we get to watch them build their independence skills and create lifelong friendships. We get to witness them growing up.

The Redwoods reminded me that some of life’s greatest luxuries aren’t found in five-star hotels. Sometimes they’re found around a campfire, beneath towering trees and by simply being together.