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Have you ever lied to your parents about having finished your book report so that you could go have fun with your friends instead? Sure, we all have (unless you're a fucking nerd). You both knew it was a lie from the start but now you have to figure out how the fuck you are going to read the whole of 'Goosebumps: Night of the Living Mummy' and write your half-assed report in 2 hours. My parents said they would always love me, but they were disappointed. I had been fulfilled while out with my friends but now I was filled with regret, shame, and angst for the monumental task ahead of me. Over the last decade, skiing has been my parents and the book report are all the responsibilities that I have set aside to focus on the sport I love.
To give you a brief synopsis of my life and times for context: I grew up skiing dryslope. Straight out of high school, I moved to a different country that had better skiing but without any tangible real-life skills or qualifications. I skied and worked shitty monotonous jobs to feed my addiction, smoked way too much pot, and had sex with way fewer women than I would have imagined. Sound familiar? Thought so.
I now have a roach clip attached to the blunt that is my 20s and I am looking back at a decade that has lazily passed by like a game of pooh sticks with my childhood friends. All the sticks are equal in size and have a straightforward route with little to no obstacles. While they have all confidently floated downstream, my stick sits in an eddy trying to stay afloat. They tell me that the lake they have entered is large and scary. They tell me about the vast insignificance, lack of perspective, and how they wished they had appreciated the river more and not rushed downstream so quickly. They assure me that they wish they were still in the river, like me. The glint of their wedding bands and affordable mortgages taunt me from around the bend. At least it is only around the bend.
I would be lying if I said that the past decade has been the big-time chill vibe that I envisioned as a naive teen. As we passion-driven idealists know all too well, our lives are volatile, full of very high highs and very low lows. For me, this became an addiction in itself. I was always afraid of complacency and normalcy, always scared of being bored. I wouldn't say I have necessarily thrived in this state, but my lord has it been exciting and thrilling but also lonely and sometimes depressing. I live a life of paradox and contrast that is intoxicating and exhausting. I would be an idiot to not take this time to thank my parents and say how privileged I am. They have always been teeth baring-ly supportive of me and have helped me out financially more times than I can remember or my ego would let me admit. As appreciative as I am, however, it only adds to the mounting feeling of unfulfillment and misdirection.
Call it growing up, call it maturity, call it whatever the hell you want. It creeps in for everyone at some point. It is a ticking time bomb in almost all of us who live carefree lives of freedom and opportunity (yes, I'm talking about rich white people). Looking back, I have always felt this way but suppressed it with clouds of pow and spliff smoke. Only now, with all these vices losing their appeal, has the green and white fog risen and shown what lies beneath. A whole lot of not much. I look back at my younger self with equal amounts of envy and disdain.
Jesus Christ. Someone come and take this small violin away from me beacuse I am being far too hard on myself. Although I am obviously pessimistic and I am currently suffering the post-season blues that are all too familiar to me, I would not change a thing. I have met lifelong friends and had experiences that have shaped me and led me to where and who I am today. I love myself, I love my friends, I love my partner, and love my life. Sometimes it just do be hard.
I appreciate the times spent cleaning toilets, minesweeping beers, and stealing overpriced avocados from the grocery store. As someone who grew up with boundless opportunities, I feel like it's essential for anyone to experience both sides of the spectrum. At restaurants, I hold my tongue when my food takes longer than expected because I understand that shit happens and the people working there are doing it to pay the bills. Not to be at my beck and call or the outlet for my shitty day at the office. At hotels, if I show up and there is a rogue pube in my shower, I understand that monotonous jobs are draining, soul-destroying, and require 2-3 bong tokes before work, so these things happen.
The average world salary is $18,000 per year. Many are supporting close and extended families for much less. Admittedly, I have no children, but skiing is my dependent. I love to ski. I need to ski. I love it like a child. In the summer, I would be like a divorced dad that only had custody for 6 months of the year, I would think about it all the time, do everything I could to be able to spend as much time skiing in the 6 months I had. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was important. Now, I get the feeling that my child is growing up and I am developing a different and more distant relationship with it. It needs me less and as much as I hate to say, I need it less too. I'm having my quarter-life crisis. Maybe I should buy a Porsche, or get into golf or something. I always knew this day would come but there was no way to prepare myself for it.
After months of soul searching with a hint of self-loathing, I have come to a weary conclusion that I am indeed growing up and my priorities are changing. Although I have put off the metaphorical book report later than most, I don't have 2 hours to finish it. I have all night. It may be harder and more tiresome and I may have run out of some options but there is still plenty of time left on the clock. I have a partner who I love dearly and want to build a life with. I want to travel and see what the world has to offer. Instead of looking at children with disgust, I find myself understanding the joy and fulfillment that those snot-filled shitheads can bring to someone's life. I see friends purchasing homes and developing careers that seem more meaningful than taking scoobie snacks and doing backflips. Skiing will always be there, but like all addictions, I think it's time I developed a healthier relationship with my oldest and dearest vise.
To try and round out my ramblings succinctly, I want to expand my horizons. If I love skiing so much, what else is out there that I can also love as much - or more? I have been so unnerved and upset by the terminus of this era that I forgot (cliché alert) that the best part of the end of something is new and exciting beginnings (ugh. vomit-inducing, I know). We all love skiing and this is why we have congregated in the armpit of ski media under the pulpit that NS stands upon. I don't think I need to wax lyrical about why I love skiing as I assume almost everyone reading this does for similar reasons. The most important lesson I have learned in the past decade is as much as we like to believe we all love something differently, there is always the main vein that runs through the middle of any culture; the love itself. It is the feeling of loving something that digs its hooks deep into our hearts and soul. Skiing is merely the vessel.
Winter 20/21: I was looking around at all my ski homies and for the first time I had the thought 'wow, we don't really suck that bad'. To make it even sweeter, we had a lot of hilarious moments that all happened spontaneously that I found myself often reminiscing on. Last summer, while mowing my 200th lawn of the season, I had an idea for a ski project I wanted to make with my friends. Think Carnage X Totally Trevor. I asked my friend who has a bunch of filming equipment and is also a pretty legit skier to help me out. After many excitable and beer-fueled discussions we decided, 'Hey, why don't we try and get some companies to support our project'
Fast forward a few months, it was November and somehow we had managed to swindle a bunch of gear from multiple companies including skis, outerwear, goggles and more. It felt insane, overwhelming, and like my childhood dreams had come true. It was amazing and confusing and, oh did I mention we got a local brewery to give us free beer?! Truly a dream come true! But holy shit, we actually have to pull this off somehow.
It wasn't long before the wheels began to start squeaking. I naively had not realized the undertaking I had brought upon myself. Yes, the gear was great, but it also came with some pressure to perform and make something that the sponsors would be proud to say they have supported. One of the largest skiing companies in the business wanted something polished and professional, not a bunch of dirtbags that loved mullets and fart jokes way too much. I already was beginning to feel like the idea that I was so excited about on that hot summer's day was starting to fade and change into something stale and nothing at all like I had imagined. I always had this strong notion that you have to portray who you really are, what you really believe, what is really happening for content to be relatable and for the viewer to really feel invested. This is something Carnage has done so well over the years and a crew I always drew a lot of inspiration from. I was beginning to feel constrained and it was quickly diminishing the excitement that had been so prevalent earlier in the Fall.
My relationship with my filmer....
Have you ever lied to your parents about having finished your book report so that you could go have fun with your friends instead? Sure, we all have (unless you're a fucking nerd). You both knew it was a lie from the start but now you have to figure out how the fuck you are going to read the whole of 'Goosebumps: Night of the Living Mummy' and write your half-assed report in 2 hours. My parents said they would always love me, but they were disappointed. I had been fulfilled while out with my friends but now I was filled with regret, shame, and angst for the monumental task ahead of me. Over the last decade, skiing has been my parents and the book report are all the responsibilities that I have set aside to focus on the sport I love.
To give you a brief synopsis of my life and times for context: I grew up skiing dryslope. Straight out of high school, I moved to a different country that had better skiing but without any tangible real-life skills or qualifications. I skied and worked shitty monotonous jobs to feed my addiction, smoked way too much pot, and had sex with way fewer women than I would have imagined. Sound familiar? Thought so.
I now have a roach clip attached to the blunt that is my 20s and I am looking back at a decade that has lazily passed by like a game of pooh sticks with my childhood friends. All the sticks are equal in size and have a straightforward route with little to no obstacles. While they have all confidently floated downstream, my stick sits in an eddy trying to stay afloat. They tell me that the lake they have entered is large and scary. They tell me about the vast insignificance, lack of perspective, and how they wished they had appreciated the river more and not rushed downstream so quickly. They assure me that they wish they were still in the river, like me. The glint of their wedding bands and affordable mortgages taunt me from around the bend. At least it is only around the bend.
I would be lying if I said that the past decade has been the big-time chill vibe that I envisioned as a naive teen. As we passion-driven idealists know all too well, our lives are volatile, full of very high highs and very low lows. For me, this became an addiction in itself. I was always afraid of complacency and normalcy, always scared of being bored. I wouldn't say I have necessarily thrived in this state, but my lord has it been exciting and thrilling but also lonely and sometimes depressing. I live a life of paradox and contrast that is intoxicating and exhausting. I would be an idiot to not take this time to thank my parents and say how privileged I am. They have always been teeth baring-ly supportive of me and have helped me out financially more times than I can remember or my ego would let me admit. As appreciative as I am, however, it only adds to the mounting feeling of unfulfillment and misdirection.
Call it growing up, call it maturity, call it whatever the hell you want. It creeps in for everyone at some point. It is a ticking time bomb in almost all of us who live carefree lives of freedom and opportunity (yes, I'm talking about rich white people). Looking back, I have always felt this way but suppressed it with clouds of pow and spliff smoke. Only now, with all these vices losing their appeal, has the green and white fog risen and shown what lies beneath. A whole lot of not much. I look back at my younger self with equal amounts of envy and disdain.
Jesus Christ. Someone come and take this small violin away from me beacuse I am being far too hard on myself. Although I am obviously pessimistic and I am currently suffering the post-season blues that are all too familiar to me, I would not change a thing. I have met lifelong friends and had experiences that have shaped me and led me to where and who I am today. I love myself, I love my friends, I love my partner, and love my life. Sometimes it just do be hard.
I appreciate the times spent cleaning toilets, minesweeping beers, and stealing overpriced avocados from the grocery store. As someone who grew up with boundless opportunities, I feel like it's essential for anyone to experience both sides of the spectrum. At restaurants, I hold my tongue when my food takes longer than expected because I understand that shit happens and the people working there are doing it to pay the bills. Not to be at my beck and call or the outlet for my shitty day at the office. At hotels, if I show up and there is a rogue pube in my shower, I understand that monotonous jobs are draining, soul-destroying, and require 2-3 bong tokes before work, so these things happen.
The average world salary is $18,000 per year. Many are supporting close and extended families for much less. Admittedly, I have no children, but skiing is my dependent. I love to ski. I need to ski. I love it like a child. In the summer, I would be like a divorced dad that only had custody for 6 months of the year, I would think about it all the time, do everything I could to be able to spend as much time skiing in the 6 months I had. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was important. Now, I get the feeling that my child is growing up and I am developing a different and more distant relationship with it. It needs me less and as much as I hate to say, I need it less too. I'm having my quarter-life crisis. Maybe I should buy a Porsche, or get into golf or something. I always knew this day would come but there was no way to prepare myself for it.
After months of soul searching with a hint of self-loathing, I have come to a weary conclusion that I am indeed growing up and my priorities are changing. Although I have put off the metaphorical book report later than most, I don't have 2 hours to finish it. I have all night. It may be harder and more tiresome and I may have run out of some options but there is still plenty of time left on the clock. I have a partner who I love dearly and want to build a life with. I want to travel and see what the world has to offer. Instead of looking at children with disgust, I find myself understanding the joy and fulfillment that those snot-filled shitheads can bring to someone's life. I see friends purchasing homes and developing careers that seem more meaningful than taking scoobie snacks and doing backflips. Skiing will always be there, but like all addictions, I think it's time I developed a healthier relationship with my oldest and dearest vise.
To try and round out my ramblings succinctly, I want to expand my horizons. If I love skiing so much, what else is out there that I can also love as much - or more? I have been so unnerved and upset by the terminus of this era that I forgot (cliché alert) that the best part of the end of something is new and exciting beginnings (ugh. vomit-inducing, I know). We all love skiing and this is why we have congregated in the armpit of ski media under the pulpit that NS stands upon. I don't think I need to wax lyrical about why I love skiing as I assume almost everyone reading this does for similar reasons. The most important lesson I have learned in the past decade is as much as we like to believe we all love something differently, there is always the main vein that runs through the middle of any culture; the love itself. It is the feeling of loving something that digs its hooks deep into our hearts and soul. Skiing is merely the vessel.
Winter 20/21: I was looking around at all my ski homies and for the first time I had the thought 'wow, we don't really suck that bad'. To make it even sweeter, we had a lot of hilarious moments that all happened spontaneously that I found myself often reminiscing on. Last summer, while mowing my 200th lawn of the season, I had an idea for a ski project I wanted to make with my friends. Think Carnage X Totally Trevor. I asked my friend who has a bunch of filming equipment and is also a pretty legit skier to help me out. After many excitable and beer-fueled discussions we decided, 'Hey, why don't we try and get some companies to support our project'
Fast forward a few months, it was November and somehow we had managed to swindle a bunch of gear from multiple companies including skis, outerwear, goggles and more. It felt insane, overwhelming, and like my childhood dreams had come true. It was amazing and confusing and, oh did I mention we got a local brewery to give us free beer?! Truly a dream come true! But holy shit, we actually have to pull this off somehow.
It wasn't long before the wheels began to start squeaking. I naively had not realized the undertaking I had brought upon myself. Yes, the gear was great, but it also came with some pressure to perform and make something that the sponsors would be proud to say they have supported. One of the largest skiing companies in the business wanted something polished and professional, not a bunch of dirtbags that loved mullets and fart jokes way too much. I already was beginning to feel like the idea that I was so excited about on that hot summer's day was starting to fade and change into something stale and nothing at all like I had imagined. I always had this strong notion that you have to portray who you really are, what you really believe, what is really happening for content to be relatable and for the viewer to really feel invested. This is something Carnage has done so well over the years and a crew I always drew a lot of inspiration from. I was beginning to feel constrained and it was quickly diminishing the excitement that had been so prevalent earlier in the Fall.
My relationship with my filmer....
