The Blue Arbor and The Public Spirit

Shortly after leaving my job at the agency, at the onset of the pandemic, I began working with clients independently. While I wasn’t particularly eager to continue with client work, I found a profound sense of freedom in choosing the types of brands I wanted to collaborate with. It also helped that the ones I attracted were brands I admired. Mejdi Tours, for instance, was offering a fresh perspective on travel—connecting people with destinations around the world not just to enjoy their beauty but to delve into their history, activism, and policies. It added an academic and human dimension to travel.

"Finally," I thought, "a brand helping people become less superficial and more human."

This was the beginning of several transformations I would experience and an entryway into working with other brands challenging how we engage with the world. By offering new models to interact with the things we love—such as travel in Mejdi’s case—these initiatives expand our perspective, teaching us new ways to observe the world and uncover internal growth. My experience at Blue Arbor Foundation’s retreat did just that—and more.

Why are you here?

One of my first conversations upon arrival was with one of Blue Arbor’s co-founders, a charismatic and adventurous young man. He asked me what I expected from the trip. It was an interesting question, one I’d been hoping no one would ask. While sketching a picturesque hill in front of me, I decided to tell him the truth.

“Well,” I said, “my expectation with things like this is similar to my expectations in general. I trust there is growth waiting on the other side. What that growth looks like doesn’t really matter.”

I also shared my eagerness to reconnect with my friend Rocco, nurture our relationship, and support his initiative. Rocco and I met at Davos, where we formed an immediate, profound connection. Supporting his work with the Blue Arbor project felt important—not only because of our bond but because his vision embodied what I wish more people would invest their time in. At just 20 years old, he was pursuing an idea to help others. His and the team’s vision inspired me as a model of how the future of civic work could look.

The power of community

It’s unfortunate how some words lose their power from overuse. Community is one of those words. Still, I can only define it in my own terms. For me, there is no community without work. Even families, bound by blood, constantly work on something together—solving problems, creating, and building shared futures. That shared effort is what allows a community to achieve communitas, the public spirit.

Of course, the public spirit requires a public. Our group came from different parts of the world—mainly Europe—but we were remarkably diverse. Marina and Marta, for example, performed an impromptu ballet show of shadows while we cooked dinner without electricity, having used too much earlier in the day. Their laughter and shadow puppets, set to Marina’s favorite French song, created an energizing, colorful, and authentic atmosphere.

This vibrancy stood in stark contrast to the isolation I’d sometimes felt in Chicago. Although I had just completed a term leading a group of young leaders there, cultural norms and generational shifts—exacerbated by the pandemic—had made fostering connection a challenge. But here, in this retreat, it wasn’t difficult.

Authentic leadership

What does it mean to lead authentically? I mentioned this as an invitation during a panel where we were discussing leadership, not knowing then how big of a monster this word could be. What is it? We know a little about authenticity, but there is so much more to discover. It turns out that to lead authentically, you should perhaps “know thyself,” and these types of experiences provide the perfect context to get a bit closer to that goal.

As both a participant and a witness, I observed myself and others as we worked to reorganize the patio of the house—moving rocks, organizing tasks, and handling equipment. I was entirely out of my comfort zone. Manual labor was something I not only grew up believing I wasn’t good at but was also something I had been bullied for. Always more inclined toward the artistic and intellectual side of things, I felt clumsy with manual work. No matter what I did, I never seemed able to do it as well as my other male peers. Maybe, I was told, it was okay because I was a “sissy.”

The trip gave me a safe space to confront this and many other painful narratives. And since we’re talking about the public spirit, there was, of course, help around me. Sepi, a daughter of immigrants based in the UK, seemed to be grappling with similar issues, though from an entirely different perspective. Neither of us knew how to ride bicycles. So, when we learned that one of the activities involved mountain biking downhill, I politely declined. Somehow, we ended up doing it anyway.

It was by no means a pleasant experience. I felt I had taken on something far too risky and could have easily injured myself. It’s okay to push yourself out of your comfort zone, Joseph, I thought, but this may have crossed the line.

Sepi and I later reflected on the experience and what it meant for us. “I grew up as an immigrant,” she shared, “seeing all my friends—especially the girls—climbing mountains, riding bikes, doing all these things I wasn’t allowed to do because I was a girl.”

Her parents had immigrated from Iran. “Interesting,” I told her. “I had a similar but opposite experience. I was expected to do these things and to do them well because I was a man, but I never wanted to. Each time I did, it was either because I was forced to ‘man up’ or because I pushed myself to belong.”

This incident—this shared experience—became a wonderful learning opportunity for all of us. I shared these reflections with my friend Rocco. “There’s a reason we don’t know how to ride bicycles,” I told him. In the end, the experience brought us closer together.

The town and its people

As a writer who spends a lot of time in introspection, I have to train myself to look outward as much as I look inward. That’s one of the reasons I paint and occasionally sign up for architecture classes. What would the town say if the town were a person? For this trip, at least, it said a lot.

We learned about how essential oils are produced in the town, engaged with some of the dairy producers, visited their farms, and met their animals. We enjoyed the magnificent scenery of the Mediterranean Sea, explored the local shops, indulged in ice cream, and wandered through charming stores. We even pretended to be in a fashion show on one of the town’s narrow streets—and got lost once or twice. We took Finalborgo out on a date almost every night, and during the day, she rewarded us by revealing all she has to offer to the world.

The lessons that Blue Arbor had designed to incorporate sustainability into the experience didn’t feel forced. Instead, they were seamlessly woven into the broader narrative of imagining a better world.

We also had the privilege of learning from academics and professionals with extensive experience in multilateral economic development and negotiation techniques. In a couple of workshops, we brainstormed ideas about what sustainable development in the town might look like, how much funding would be needed, and how these activities would resonate with the local community. It was a fantastic way to use our imagination to give back.

And then what? 

I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my vacation than with this group of people. The following week, I spent time with family who lives in northern Italy. I believe Blue Arbor represents the intersection of impact, service, and purpose. It is not only redefining the future of travel but also the future of impact in general.

I don’t know if I will return to Finalborgo—hopefully, I will. But the lessons, both practical and ontological, that I learned there are things I will carry with me to many other places and into my work. Most importantly, the relationships I built there align with my future self—the self I am cultivating. Ultimately, my expectation was met: growth, as it always is with the right community.