Zen of the Day

You must learn to look for the open spaces, not the trees.

Big Strong Men

I can't believe I got myself in this situation, again. Why do something over and over again where you always lose and end up looking ridiculous in front of a crowd? After repeated failures, what makes someone decide to try all over again?

In other words: Why do I keep entering physical competitions with big strong men? I can remember fighting boys in preschool. In middle school, I would challenge boys to arm wrestling competitions. Never winning a match, you would think I would have lost the habit by high school when the boys started to look like actual men, muscles and all. Yet scrawny men, men no bigger than girls with muscle tone limited to their forearms would taunt me as if I was going to win, letting their fist come dangerously close to the table, only to come alive with super-power strength, slamming my hand onto my desk. One single time, during all those school years I won. But victory was empty for me. The poor boy just looked weak, pathetic. I looked scary and masculine. When nobody wins, everybody's a loser. That moment was enough for me to finally embrace a belief that had crept up on me: Men are stronger, which is why they should do stuff for me.

Finally, an answer that got me out of lifting stuff. The world seemed beautiful and right. Why then, ten years later, do I find myself in another competition? This time the opponent is my boyfriend, a slightly more conquerable foe than the previous, all of mankind. Usually, I think that having a 6 foot tall man who weighs about fifty pounds more than me as a huge life perk. I get fifty extra pounds of muscle but don't have to carry it around all day. A big strong man is meant to be enjoyed, not told that he can be out-skied. Why did I bet my boyfriend that I could ski more than him this winter?

My defense: I thought that I was going to have every single day free this year, whereas he would be working five days a week. He might get an extra day off here or there, but I saw my winning as sure thing. I was choreographing my victory dance. There was a chant to go with it. "You's a bitch. Eat my dust." (repeat)

My reality: He is schooling me by an extra third of hours. Just when I'm reaching a point of exhaustion where I fear breaking a leg he seems to be finally warmed up. Unless he is arrested or maimed he is probably going to win.

Let this be a reminder. Men are for carrying stuff, buying stuff, and being allowed the pleasure of making you laugh. Don't compete with them. Enjoy them. You's not a bitch. No one needs to eat dust. Especially since my boyfriend is in the kitchen right now making me a sandwich.

Nobody ever let me arm wrestle this guy.

Keeping Up

You can come as long as you can keep up. As children this point seems obvious. You make the team if you can run as fast as the other kids. If the popular girls skooch together and make room for you on the sidewalk, you can keep up. If they push you off, you'll fall behind. The first time I became conscience of this truth was on my way back from 5th grade recess. By that point we were past playing but not quite sneaking away to smoke. I had a new friendship blooming. Sarah had effortless charm. I had hard-won humor. Jane was striding along with us, a constant companion to Sarah for the past few years, they were best friends and I was the intruder. We all made the walk back from recess together daily, our conversation vacillating between random inside jokes we soon forgot the original meaning to and gossip about who in our class had gotten her period. Days passed, Sarah and I getting more comfortable as friends, our bodies seemed to fill out. We were young and still had some growing to do. It's possible we weren't leaving Jane out, we were just casually expanding her right off the sidewalk. Jane felt the nudge, for a while tagging behind us on the diagonal, but by that time it was too late. Your friendship is over if you say to someone, "Hey! Wait up! Ya'll are leaving me out!" If you end up crying, you might as well fail a grade and try to make new friends the next time around.

Growing up only makes it harder to keep up. As kids, being encouraged to be independent was a form of child abuse. As an adult, it's a requirement. I can comfortably eat lunch alone, travel internationally, and strut into a party dateless. I'm destiny's child. An independent American woman. That all melts like a snowflake though when I'm overcome by the urge to keep up with the cool kids. They come in all genres, but for me, at this moment in my life, the cool kids are those effortless skiers who taunt me with their skill because I can't keep up with them long enough to ever see how the magic happens or how good they really are. Where I fail as an athlete, I make up for with enthusiasm for short term goals. This time the goal was very short. An idea spurred getting off the tram at the top of the mountain. There were those two guys, friends of my boyfriend, who are sweet guys, and great skiers. They have encouraged my skiing, similar to encouraging a baby to walk. Positive support is great, but the false ego which sometimes convinces me that I'm a badass wants to shout, "I ain't no baby, baby!" In the fantasy, I then jump of a 20ft cliff, landing in a soft billow of snow. As I ski away, the guys think, "Damn. That girl can really ski, especially for being as intelligent, pretty, and successful as she is". Sighing, they return to their listless skiing, their motions slowed by the memory of my action.

That's not at all how it went down. For now I'd have to settle for just trying to keep up for as long as I had in me. Skiing as fast as I could, keeping only my destination in mind, being held steady by determination, and these guys were probably waiting up a bit, I kept up. Frozen cheeks drooped on my face like cracking ice slabs as I watched a guy land a 30 ft cliff jump onto a tough snow blanket. So, that's what I've been missing. I can't do it myself, proven once again a few days later when I face planted off a 5ft boulder. I lifted my head, grinning, a strange taste in my mouth. "Am I bleeding?" Negative. The coldness of snow can give the same metallic taste of blood.

Still, haven't been nudged off the sidewalk yet.

Bitches and Ho Ho Ho's

Please tell these excuses to fuck off promptly after reading them. A little less than a month ago, I moved into a new apartment right at the bottom of the ski slope. It has taken me till today to get my internet going. No blogging. I've been skiing almost everyday, because this year I want to ski a hundred days. Turns out, it's physically exhausting being a devoted ski bum. Again, no blogging. This has been hinted at before but ever since I have become a highly active person, it feels like my mind has been slowly shutting down. I'm more efficient in everyday tasks but I have less witticisms to say about them. Who knew my personal laziness was fueling all the delightful neurosis? None of that blogging is happening.

On the exact same day that I moved into my ski accessible apartment, my lovely work had a fire. While there are definite tragic elements, turns out I'm getting paid to not work as the building is healing. As they say on the ski slopes, sick! Just when I had started telling people that my urge to write had evaporated, I was avalanched with free time and mind space. Three weeks later I'm a little bored, a little lonely, and really want to write! Plus, it's been below zero the past few days and I've kept skiing. Pushing my body too far in the effort to secure my 100 days on the slopes has gotten me sick. And laying around has really nestled some sense into me. I want to blog! I miss you guys! I'm not ready to give up! This blog was started in an effort to write more. The topic being practically picked at random, resulting in me badassing so much that I barely write. Well, I'm pretty damn close to my goal weight, I don't smoke, and I'm plenty active. New Year's Resolution: Everyday blogging. At least until I get my job back. I miss chatting with readers and I miss playing with words. It shouldn't be just my body that is being challenged.

Anyone else have some resolutions to share? Anyone becoming a badass this year?

Yep

Just got home from a day of effortless skiing and fell in my living room taking off my snow pants.

Party Dress

I've spent 3 days wondering if I should wear my impractical party dress to my work holiday party. Questioning my friend from college who lives in NYC about it she answered a definite yes. She reminded me that if there is anyone who can pull off an over-the-top outfit, it's me. The thing is, I'm not sure if it is me anymore. Now, I'm kinda a badass. People meet me and aren't surprised at the hiking and biking and skiing. They would probably be pretty thrown to know that I used to be known for my wild clothing and ever evolving look. The thing about overdressing in LA or NYC is you can always say, these people don't know where I'm going later. In my little dink mountain town, people know where I'm going and it most likely involves a bonfire or a keg.

At the same time, my little town is changing too. Every year more fashionable girls show up an refuse to give up their skinny jeans or eyeliner. So maybe I will meet in the middle with this little town. Right now I don't see it though. How can we keep all of the things we love about ourselves while turning into our new selves? Don't know yet. I guess I just have to see how the party dress goes over. I got my head stuck in the snow a few days ago and it supported my weight as I flipped over. If I can survive that type of ridiculousness on a regular basis, how scary can a little lace and ruffles be?


Side note: One girl is wearing make-up to the party for one of the few times in her life. I might look like a prostitute by comparison. This is some dangerous territory.

Political Conflict

Today, I read an editorial about what the Chinese government probably says about the US behind our backs. The point of the article is that we our a country so divided by petty arguments and our perhaps major differences that we can't get anything done. Final result is that China is gonna buy us if we don't become a more functional and united nation. I soaked this all in as I rode the bus out to the village to go skiing for my sixth day in a row. Fixing the countries problems isn't my top priority these days but I'd like to do my part. Embracing my new ski bum ways I settled on these two thoughts: 1) It's a bummer man. 2) All good starts at home. I'll just try to be more understanding of those who are different than me.

All thinking was then tossed aside as I got my ass in gear to ski what looked like it should be some fluffy new snow. Riding up the gondola I was confronted with my first tourist of the season. The gondola is series of little boxes that fix eight people max and bring out about two thirds up the mountain. It was just me and two sixty-something year old bussinessmen from Pennsylvania. One was already complaining about his knee and the other was cheerfully gazing out the window, seemingly trying to pretend he came alone. The ride up take only seven or eight minutes, but I've learned in the past things can get awkward quick. Feeling benevolent from my reading earlier, I decided to be nice to the poor saps. The complainer turned to me and said, "This is what happens when you get old." Instead of saying, "No, that's what happens when you get fat and only use your body once a year for twenty hours of skiing." I replied, "No, that's what happens when you use your body. I have bad knees too." The conversation went the normal course. Where are you from? How long have you been out here? Where do you work? This is where the conversation always either goes one of two ways. Either you will be talking to a tourist who respects your life choices and believes that there are ways to find happiness outside of a bank account, or you will be talking to the asshole I was talking to today. I gave no signs of unhappiness or a lack of fulfillment. I also didn't indicate that I ever planned on leaving Jackson. This guy went on to say how it is a dead end environment and the people who stay here too long end up lonely losers sitting at a bar watching videos on computers of other people drinking beer. As he said, "It's no life." His friend, who could sense I was feeling belittled argued that there is a richness inherent in living out here. The complainer just sited more examples of ridiculous living in a ski-bum life.

This is a divide that I can't find peace with either. I know there is a world of work out there, and a large part of me wants to show the world that I can make it. Another, slightly more dominant part of me is stoked that I'm probably going to ski over a hundred days this winter. After the skiing, I will then go into a job that I enjoy, pays me well, and allows me to travel. After all that I will come home to a big, handsome man and we will love each other. The whole while, all of this will be done in a healthy, well fed and exercised body. To me, that is a life. And while I want us to all come together in peace and love, if push comes to shove, I may just move to Japan. China seems a little too competitive and Japan has the better skiing.