In college I liked a girl who looked like Alanis Morrisette. The one with the braids from the Ironic video. Back then, I began my trend of being tongue-tied when I liked someone, painfully shy, and completely disarmed whenever I was near someone I was interested in. She was an absolute doll.
Funny thing though is this: she caught wind that I liked her, probably from one of my friends who lived in the all women’s dorm just down the hall from her. These friends were like that sometimes. Maybe they thought they were moving things along, because rather than actually make a move, I would rather talk about how she made my heart beat faster.
Back through the grapevine, I heard she thought I was okay, but not “outdoorsy enough.” Months later, I began to see what she considered outdoorsy. The guys with that sandy hair sticking out in all directions from underneath a Patagonia hat. Guys who wore puffy vests and cargo shorts with carabiners attached to their keychains. The kind who unironically today would talk about “crushing macros” when they meant eating. The boys with the $6000 Canondale bike on the $400 rack mounted on the shitbox Subaru they would drive to Boulder to do some bouldering, and not once laugh at how ridiculous that sounded.
Oddly enough I was pretty outdoorsy. I had grown up in the mountains, hiked and biked all over the place. I had been rock climbing for a couple years. I was an Eagle Scout. I could make fire five different ways without a match. I had slept under the stars at 12,000ft without a tent, tracked coyotes across glaciers, and all sorts of other outdoorsy shenanigans. But I didn’t match the prescribed image of what she thought outdoorsy was.
I still don’t. And though I live on the road, I don’t fit that image either. I’m not good at fitting into little boxes with nice labels that say exactly what is inside. Christy didn’t know me, because if she had, she might not have been so quick to judge. Now, that being said, I will talk about some of what I have learned about myself in the last few years.
Maybe I’m not as outdoorsy as I like to think I am.
It has been snowing for a few days where I am parked. For the last several months, I have been bumping around southern Arizona and California where the night temps drop down to the low 40s and day temps would often hit the 70s. Our daily routine was often make coffee, play fetch with the tennisball, do some work, eat some lunch, take a nap, play some more ball, write, read or watch a movie, go to bed. Fit some photography into the schedule along with trips into town to do laundry or run errands and there’s not much more than that. I got comfortable.
The last week I have climbed in altitude and drove straight into late winter/early spring, just like Mother Nature used to make. It’s cold. It’s snowing (right now). And the idea of being outside and walking around in it is a big nope. I no longer relish the idea of getting bundled up and being outside in this bullshit. Sometimes I have to do it. I wonder how people have fun in this when there are perfectly good comfy chairs, heated rooms, hot baths, and chicken fried chicken sandwiches and waffle fries that exist in the world. I would kill for a hot spring, or hell even a hot shower at this point.
I have met some guys in this lifestyle who live on the road and would assemble a parasail wing or ride 30 miles on a mountain bike or go surfing in 40 degree water for fun. I’m not saying those things don’t sound fun, but right now I’m watching the snow blow past the windows and trying to warm my feet in front of my heater and all I can think is how good a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings right out of the fryer would taste right now.
I don’t know, maybe that is just maturity (read “old age”) telling me that creature comforts are sometimes preferable to bleeding shins and blisters on your feet. On a day like today, I would rather have a big comfy sweater (“jumper” for those of you on the east side of the Atlantic), blazing fire, a stack of records to play, and an overstuffed chair enveloping my ass. Some days are just like that. I’ll take rain any day over snow. I’ll take mud over ice. And I’ll take a fireplace over burning palo verde wood.
Ironically enough, for the last year and a half I have been living a very outdoorsy life. I’m more inclined to take a day hike in the mountains than I am to walk around a city. My dog and I have had encounters with bears, grey foxes, elk, and a multitude of herbivores. The scariest perhaps being a screaming donkey in the middle of the night near Lake Havasu City.
Certainly I would prefer walking around an old city on uneven cobblestone streets or looking at ruins thousands of years old. I would prefer zipping around in the countryside in a small car taking in the sights over chugging along in a bus that gets ten miles per gallon. That life might be a little further off than I hoped. I’m a far cry from luxury hotels and swimming pools and a lot closer to hiking alone above treeline at the moment. Either way, I have things to learn and stories to tell. I continue to meet interesting people and hear their stories. It’s all part of the job.
One of the things I learned about myself is the older I get the more I appreciate being comfortable. A flat white and a pain au chocolat. Taking a train to a new location to explore. Maybe Christy had some foresight. I wonder if the guys she went out with continued their outdoorsy pursuits, or if in their late forties and early fifties have resigned themselves to watching Alex Honnold climb El Capitan like the maniac he is, just like the rest of us.
I can’t help but wonder what my true nature is. I took offense back then that I didn’t fit the type for being “outdoorsy.” Now I’m living it every day. I still don’t fit the type, but oh well. If I had to assign myself a type, I don’t think I could. I enjoy being myself. I like my quiet time and I like being social on occasion. I can get lost watching a movie or reading a book. I enjoy watching hockey live or on TV. I know I don’t have the legs or upper body strength anymore for rock climbing, and I would rather spend money on plane tickets than tattoos. I guess I’m just practicing being good at being myself these days.
Damned if I’d ever be good at anything else.