I'm in Alta, Utah. I live in the Little Cottonwood Canyon and work in the most expensive and high end resort in this very small ski town. Alta is renown for it's amazing snow. I'm sitting in the lodge now, watching it dump down out there. It's been snowing all night and it's not supposed to stop until Monday. When it snows, everyone is in an excellent mood. When it doesn't snow, people are on edge. I have never in my life, seen this much snow. I'm told I've seen nothing yet. We have already had about 166 inches of snow and by the beginning of the week, we will hopefully have 2 more feet. I'm learning about yet another sub culture here. Skiers, are really and genuinely a different type of human being. This year, I've covered much terrain and have had six different mailing addresses, living in the desert, glacial mountains, the New England woods, Metropolitan cities and now here, at 8500 ft elevation in a veritable winter wonderland. I am as far removed from any world I've ever known. I came to a skiers paradise, never having strapped sticks to my feet, and having an unusually low tolerance for the cold. I came to spend more time with my good friend Jason Weber, I came for an adventure and I came to challenge myself as much as I possibly could. And here I am.
When I first arrived, I was unsettled and more scared and socially awkward than I ever have been. Truth be told I had a really hard time emotionally this year. Traveling and living so hard takes it's toll on the body and brain. Honestly, something happened inside of me that closed me up, created a darkness I've not known and made me feel almost every day for a while, that I did not want to wake up anymore. This was a conflicting mess inside my warped and weathered brain, as I was, for the most part, seeing the most beautiful and breath taking parts of the country. I was making some really genuine friends who continued to love and to teach me. I pushed my body-hiking long distances through some of the most unbelievable landscape in the country, summiting mountains, wandering through the desert, and just GOING most of the time Full-Tilt. So I should have been grateful and excited for my life. I live a life most people dream about. I've been told often how "lucky" I am. And I wanted to feel lucky. I wanted to feel as amazed and impressed with my life as others seem to be. I would have spurts of that realization, but truthfully-I felt more like a failure than anything else. I couldn't seem to maintain a relationship with anyone more than friendship and if I was going to be "close" to someone, I could only relate in a physical way. It was almost as if my brain and all of the experiences and information I was taking in were just too much. Leaving no space for any sort of actual connection. My only constant-seemed to be my family, who I have become so incredibly close to and my ex boyfriend, who I have an odd reciprocity with. Living so rigorously with no close partner is hard. And without someone to "share" all of the beauty, intensity, wanderlust, non-stop moving, going, living, and escapading- well...I became a cluttered, panicked, tense and tired mess. I kept looking around me at everyone else-who seemed as though they had it figured out, and then I looked at myself...an open book, constantly willing to move, adapt and change, fleeting, unstable, and ready for anything because truthfully, i know nothing. I watched my already meager bank account dwindle and let myself become upset about being a monetary failure. I tried too hard to connect with ALL of my friends when I went home and found that I just couldn't hack it and in the process alienated myself. I ruined a couple of great relationships this year. I ruined a lot of my brain this year. I broke myself down and beat myself up. And that darkness kept growing and growing inside of me. I came, a few times, to the point of almost just-letting go. I was hoping that coming here, would in fact open some new doors in my head, and let all of the nasty, dirty things I can't seem to deal with bleed out. A word to the wise, if you already feel hopeless and lost and you are unwilling to fight the good fight, do not go about overcoming your own idiotic shortcomings by completely moving to a place you do not understand by any means.
When I flew out of Philadelphia, A knot worked it's way into my stomach. My head hurt terribly and I had a lump in my throat. I watched the city I know best drift away and let the black hole in my head, my heart and my gut suck me in. I wanted to jump out of the plane. I just didn't feel READY to deal. I kept questioning myself-Why hadn't I checked myself into a hospital somewhere? Why hadn't I just started taking medicine again? Why didn't I just stay in Philadelphia and let everyone know that I was so depressed and scared? Why didn't I go to Missoula and visit the one person not related to me that not only knows me so well, but also has gone through what I was going through? Why the FUCK did I not just take the easy path. GODDAMNIT....my head...it hurt. And so I slept, and dreamt awful dreams, and prayed as i woke up occasionally, that my plane would crash into the squares so neat and organized down below, so I wouldn't be a coward...I would and could just not be.
When the plane landed, it was snowing hard. I couldn't see Salt Lake at all really. My friend Zak picked me up and even though I was excited to see him, I felt at odds. I was wondering if he could see that darkness. The white out conditions in Utah were almost symbolic in a sense. I had entered a numb void that would not really become comforting until a few days ago. Zak drove me up the canyon. The snow was really coming down and driving was entirely unsafe. I could feel Zak's own fear radiating off of him. I clenched my hands as we skidded up the windy mountain road. Crescent nail marks were embedded in my palms. I couldn't see any of my new home by any means, visibility was low and everything looked ominous. The trip to this new world was as peculiar and unmatched as the new world in and of itself. I arrived, nonetheless, confused, exhausted, empty, lonely and completely and utterly socially awkward. Jason received me well. And we hugged and I felt grateful for his graciousness. In reality, I wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep off the past few months. We trudged through the snow my first night here, walking down the hill to a lodge bar, to sit by a fire and catch up. The light at night is queer here, bizarre. It feels almost as though you are on the moon. The reflective nature of the all encompassing snow makes the land look and feel preternatural. The mountains are silhouetted even in the darkest of nights. There is a glow that does not feel warm, but does in fact, glow. As the snow crunched under my feet and I looked around, i felt dizzy and overwhelmed, and I decided to just do as I always have, suck it up, suck it in, ride the wave of uncertainty.
I don't think I had any idea what I was really getting myself into. I've been doing seasonal work for awhile now, so I sincerely believed I would just fall into place. There are always rites of passage, adaptations and simple sociological rules and regulations. There is a natural groove that becomes more obvious, and a placement of one in certain circles and rank takes place. And then, you settle and then of course, with all of us being naturally or for the most part transient, it all changes, over and over and over in the course of the season. This place...is like none other. Ski culture is incomparable to anything I have attempted to understand. Skiers are intense people, with their own vocabulary, their own style, and their own way of thinking. I'm still learning, so it's hard to accurately describe it. But it is intimidating, overwhelming and just generally physically and mentally challenging. Girls here find the opposite sex more attractive as their skill level as a skier is higher. People certainly pay the better skiers more respect. If one does not go out on a "powder" day, they are looked down upon. If one does not get a "few runs" in a day, they are wasting their time here. The gear is astounding, the variety unending and the culture confounding entirely. Throwing myself into this band of privileged snow warriors was jolting. It may have been the hardest thing I have ever attempted. And I hadn't even strapped into skis yet.
Most of the people who work here are returners. Few of us are newbies. This was certainly alienating at first. I think I was actually the ONLY person who had never in my life, skied. People are generally kind here, and want you to ski, they want skiing to be a positive thing. They certainly want to share their enthusiasm for skiing. Ski bums are obsessed with, well, skiing. They constantly look up the weather report and are constantly concerned with the snow, the consistency of the snow and what the fuck the snow is doing. Business and service revolves around snow. I have seen snowflake every thing here, ranging from snowflake tattoos to snowflake jewelry, snowflake pipes, snow is all it's about. Actually BEING in the snow, in a pair of skis and flying down a mountain, well shit, that's another story. It took me a few days of PAINFUL and defeating falling, crashing, smashing, splitting, cursing, cold wet sadness, but after my first real run, I got it. It made sense. I began dreaming about skiing. I skied powder vs hard packed down icy groomers and understood the difference. My gear isn't cool, I look like a retard, I'm what Alta locals call a beater, but I did find love in skiing. It is an ever changing challenge to wake up and go through the labor of putting on all of that gear, telling myself over and over that I can actually-do it, deal with the self defeating voices that remind me how shitty of a skier I am, and just GET OUT THERE. As soon as I click in, and hit the first hill at the ski exit of the lodge, I'm fucking stoked. Riding the lift is almost like going to church (for religious folks). It gives you time to reflect, to look around at the astounding beauty, to feel the cold wet air in your lungs, to let the excitement build in your belly and think about the run at hand. Once you go, there's no turning back, and once you put your skis to the snow, there's no where to go but down. Watching a good skier really is wonderful, the body moves like a machine, but with so much fluidity it's awe inspiring. It's almost like watching the wand in a conductor's hand. I often sit in the lodge and watch the tiny bodies dotting the pure white landscape, carving fresh lines like veins into the mountain. It is almost calming, but it creates a feeling in my tummy, a longing to at some point move with such agility and ease. I have had similar relationships with summiting mountains. I hope to become one with the snow so to speak.
I received a letter from my other yesterday and her handwriting, looping and swirling like the tracks on the mountains outside said "Things run full circle". Knowing how much has changed over the past few weeks since I've been here (tomorrow will be three weeks), and feeling that darkness sliding away, and becoming more comfortable with myself and my new world makes me feel that she is in fact correct. I have always found so much comfort in change. At this moment, I am feeling comfort in the moment. At 8500 feet, the air is thinner, my brain seems to work slower, I am almost forced, to just fucking take it slow. And upon doing so, I can stop and see the scenery, I can actually hear my thoughts, feel my feelings. Everything seems to just "flow" here. Time does not really actually exist. Nothing really actually matters but the snow. There is no consequence except injury. Life is fleeting and it doesn't matter. The pines, wearing their winter sweaters of fluffy white down, sit peacefully in clusters all over the mountains, and those bodies glide swiftly between them, such a beautiful symbiotic relationship. Everything talks differently here. I'm listening and I suppose, the more I listen, the more I'll understand. Nothing is the same now as it was. But I guess, really, it never is. Time to strap in and fly as well as I can on land.
Adios Brah.
