I always thought I was a follower at heart. I don’t have that non-alcoholic confidence those trend-setters have. I like being a wallflower that sits in the background watching the world go by. But at the same time I love going against the grain, and in certain respects standing out like a sore thumb. If it upsets my parents, apparently I love it even more.
When people figured out riding bikes was fun, I had to ride a brakeless fixie. When everyone was on skis, I just had to get teles. As people sat around looking plain and uniform, covering my body in tattoos seemed to get me off.
Besides my obvious self-esteem issues any first year psych student would jump all over, what is it with me and being different? Is being on the fringe important to me as my identity? And what the hell do I do now that tattooed fixie-riding backcountry tele skiers are coming out of the woodwork?!
Has my shyness transformed into contrarianism?
I was thinking about these things as I quietly ascended our skin track we were laying down on a remote mountain in the backwoods of nowhere. We could have paid $70 to join the hordes at the resort and ski corduroy for hours; beautiful turns guaranteed.
But we were swearing and sweating up this nothing-to-write-home-about couloir in the freezing cold praying that we will be able to link up a few turns on the way down. Regardless of the those few and often pitiful turns, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
We got lost numerous times, had to come back on our tracks, dig for a ski pole that mysteriously vanished (another story for another time), and did two measly short sections in this gulley. But it was our gulley that very moment, and no one else could say that. We went digging for gold and found a little treasure, even though some might say it was costume jewelry.
Why do I have an orange Octopus pulling a geisha into the ocean tattooed on my ass? Why do my knees hurt from the years of braking with track skids? Why does my love for skiing the perfect snow actually make me do less skiing by staying away from the ski resorts?
Something, something, it being about the adventure and not the destination. Is that it? Or am I just anti-social and being fringe both keeps me separate from the majority and gives me personality?
In the end it doesn’t matter at all why, I suppose. I want to be on that skin track skiing a single messy “run” in the backwoods with my pals. I don’t need a guaranteed amount of ski runs in a day. I need to be in my happy place as a ski touring wallflower that watches the downhill skiers go by, unnoticed from the trees.