Some photos and words.

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Cory, Madi, Antoine with high stoke levels. 

Acts of writing have become few and far between for me. It’s not because I don’t have time, it’s not because I don’t like to write anymore, it’s simply because I don’t have the drive to do it. Lately I have been making a conscious effort to do more of the things that make me happy. Yoga, skiing, spending time with my dog-yes, my dog! I picked her up from the shelter in the middle of December, a kind of early Christmas present to myself. Her name is Jiggs and while she can be an absolute sh*thead, I do love her very much.


This fall I pursued and received my EMT certification and signed up for volunteer ski patrol at Big Sky. Between training for patrol, working in the kitchen at Bridger Brewing, teaching yoga, and trying to find time to spend with Jared, I had no time for myself. I wasn’t practicing yoga besides when I taught, I wasn’t writing besides when I had an assignment for Tele Skier Mag, I wasn’t skiing on my days off and I wasn’t feeding myself food that would nourish my body and give me energy. I was deep in a monotonous grind of work, learn, teach, work. And it sucked. Sucked the energy and life out of me. Sure, working in a kitchen making amazing pizza with hilarious people was fun, and volunteer patrol was fascinating as I had never done anything like it before, and of course teaching yoga always keeps me curious about my body and mind…something was missing. I was devoid of energy. Of creativity. I was having these nervous breakdowns, anxiety attacks maybe, where I would go so deep into my own head where thoughts swirled and emotions bubbled and all of a sudden I would be taking shallow sips of air that would turn into panicked breaths and full on hyperventilations. I could feel the episode coming on and had no way to stop it. I could look at myself in the mirror and tell myself to take deep breaths, slow down my thoughts; but it wouldn’t work. It was like once I started-or felt any kind of overwhelming void-there was no stopping it. It was terrifying. Just thinking about it makes me sad. Even now sitting here writing this, I have no idea what exactly brings it on and if it’s over. But I was hired on to professional ski patrol in the middle of January and things have gotten better. Maybe it’s because I finally have a job that is important to me and it’s one that uses my skills and abilities, or maybe it’s because getting that job was the minor change I needed to change my attitude.


But I’ve also become very matter-of-fact about my reality. I’ve decided that trying to be what society wants me to be is bullsh*t, that you don’t need a “big girl job” to be successful, that impulse decisions are some of the better ones, and that in the end, no one really cares what you do, so you better do whatever it is that makes you happy, tell the patriarchy to f*ck off, realize how f*cked up our government and most of the world is, and move on. Sure, there’s good out there somewhere and we each have the power to “fix” all that is broken in this world, but the truth is that until we all realize that power nothing is going to be done. So you might as well adopt that cute little sh*thead from the animal shelter, give it the best life it could have ever had, ski all you want, do the things that make you happy (as long as it doesn’t infringe on other people’s happiness), be the weirdo you were born to be, and love whoever you chose to love (hopefully there are multiple humans who get to feel your love). Because we’re all going to be dead some day and no one will care if you had money or not, if you sat behind a desk and toiled your days away, or got married and had a kid like the rest of the world or not.


*This may be seen as a rant, but like I stated throughout, I don’t really give a sh*t what you think.*

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