Here I am, moving again. I have put off packing and cleaning until the bitter end, where time is limited and the adrenaline pumps. My motivation is the clock even after giving myself 3 days to pack and clean. Unlike my usual moving proceedure, I have taken time to take in parts of Colorado I may not see again for awhile; such as rock climbing in Boulder, skiing in Arapahoe Basin and doing open poetry mics in Denver.
In this time, I have spent time with friends to say good bye and do all the things I promised to do since I arrived. I have also given some though to what I will do next. It is routine to talk about the future, when in many cases I haven't established much of a past with my new friends here. Plus, living in a seasonally dependent ski resort means there is always the question, "Will you be around next season?"
To that, I now can say a resounding no. I will not be coming back.
"So what are you going to do?"
I have this routine answer, I am going back to Los Angeles to regroup and think through my next move. I say that because I am not sure and I have no idea what is in store for me, but I am game for whatever may pop into my head.
While at home in Los Angeles, I imagine I will settle in and focus on who I am. I know it sounds cheesy to figure out who I am, but it is a question that has always puzzled me. Right now, I am moving forward almost as if I am running away from my feelings here. I am looking at how to put my relationship life, professional life and personal life together.
My time in Colorado has been difficult and I am realizing I have been mostly unhappy here. My intentions for coming were to explore and devote time to a custom ski boot shop in Winter Park, 2 hours west of Denver. I have learned the ins-and-outs of foot problems and a unique take on fitting plastics and cork to feet. I have worked the past two winters, to the point where I didn't socialize much and I hardly skiied.
It has been disappointing to have this opportunity fall through and I have subsequently felt used by my boss and boot fitting mentor. This blow has not completely materialized and my friends have expressed their own discontent over the situation. Now, I am trying to avoid thinking or talking about it. I quickly roll the entire situation into a few sentences.
Usually, it come out like this, Jacques, my boss, just wants a lot of money and could never really walk away from his business. After going over the numbers, he doesn't want to be slowly bought out and has no desire to share profits. I helped him gross 25% more than last year and there is only one employee (whereas last year, he had three employees) yet he doesn't want to share the business with me.
The painful part is that I feel used and that my efforts are not appreciated financially or in being apart of the business. I also regret I didn't ski or ride as much as I should have. This time here was spent working hard to show my devotion to an unattainable business where I was paid less than the qualifying poverty line in this county.
I am trying to put that behind me.
Now I am just doing my best to enjoy my last 48 hours in Colorado. I have had time to reflect on the past two winters and think about what my girl friend and friends outside of Colorado were talking about, this place isn't for me.
Winter Park is a small town of 700 year-round locals and the county is bigger than Rhode Island with less than 10,000 residences. After two season, I have assessed for a fact, I am not a small town girl. I am
from a big city and although I love the outdoors, I like living in an urban dive. My top complaints are the lack of diversity (race, sexuality, even gender) and the closed private attitude a small town attracts.
I strive to have community and be apart of social movements. Living in a small town means there aren't many social groups and friends are made based on how long you live here. It is almost like a corporate seniority ladder. The general interest of locals are the outdoors and independence, which is what a small ski town provides, the chance to get away from people and not have to develop social skills.
That may sound harsh.
To be fair, I haven't made the most valiant effort to get to know the locals and I haven't be enticed by the folks I have met.
One thing I do have in common with a small town mind-set is wanting to be in a place where I can be my own person without having to answer to a higher authority, whatever authority that may be. I have traveled and lived abroad for most of my adult life and that meant I never had to make time to form deep relationships. My relationships have been fun and fulfilling but not permanent. I stay in the loop on friends abroad through Facebook and an occasional email.
But something came to a hault this week, I am very alone. As I write this section, I am sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by piles of papers to be organized and kept. I am listening to This American Life and trying to keep the silence to a minimum. The silence reminds me of my alone-ness. It reminds me that I am no where close to where I want to be, socially and professionally.
My first inclination is to get out and away from this place that sucked me in and took away from who I am trying to be. This place only confused me about my identity. But as I think about my future, moving to LA only to think in a big city and be surrounded by the antithesis of Winter Park, I am afraid of not being able to find what I am looking for. I am afraid I won't figure out what I truly want and pursue it.
I try to tell myself that I will get it and try to explain that I am not a looser. I have just gone about life in a unconventional way, but that unconventionality feels as if it has eaten me whole and instilled fear. I am afraid of a "real world" job. But that is next, an intense "real world" job search.
Just trying to give myself time to think.
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