When walks turn into hikes
And blank pages turn into this
I stared at this screen for over an hour yesterday, writing a few sentences, only to hold the delete button down until they disappeared. There’s so much to write about, and at the same time, it feels like there is nothing new to say.
When I received his text, asking me if I wanted to go for a nature walk, I welcomed the distraction. I also hesitated to say yes because I don’t walk, or hike, or do much of anything that requires an intense amount of energy to go uphill without the thrill of going down it. I also battle the significant, nagging guilt of not working when I already spent the morning enjoying myself, so who am I to think that I deserve an entire day off? And then there’s also the-arthritis-in-my-feet-thing that someday will command my full attention, likely when my hesitancy to travel uphill has nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with ability. In the meantime, I’ve heard that ibuprofen works wonders.
But the other night as I was reading through my journal, the same words populated pages over and over again, dating back to the winter solstice: Slow down. Rest.
That sounds like walking, so I said yes.
I laughed to myself, wondering how, after multiple decades of working in the outdoor industry, I found myself in white suede Vans, carpenter pants, and a corduroy button-down shirt from Kenya hiking up a mountain. I don’t fit the part. I never did, and I likely never will. The few people we encountered on the trail were probably worried for me, thinking it was my first time. What would I do when I hit the snow line, and could I make it the top and back before dark? I was more than fine, which is why you should never judge someone for what they wear when they do the things outside because buying slim-fitting Arc'teryx hiking pants has more to do with the amount of money in your bank account than your actual skills.
How did this go from a walk to a hike? Topography.
I forgot to hit start on my Strava to prove that I walked up a mountain, likely because I was in such disbelief (as are a few of you, and I am awaiting the roasting in my DMs, thank you, friends). When I returned home I studied the topo lines sans reading glasses to calculate the elevation gain, which was no less than 1,000 feet and likely a bit more.
We spent the first bit of the hike discussing the impossible situation called owning a brick-and-mortar retail shop in Reno. This is likely difficult anywhere, but I’m confident that if we were located in Denver or Salt Lake or Bend (or any other city at the base of a significant mountain range like the Sierra) no one would ask me if I sold doors. They would see the skis and snowboards hanging on the displays (again, not doors) and perhaps inquire about them rather than… you guessed it, doors.
This type of exchange with strangers is one of the many things I find frustrating about owning my own business, and it makes me question what I’m doing.
Owning your own business is never easy, for anyone. But it certainly has changed since the tech boom in Silicon Valley. We went from valuing people who could make make a modest living doing something that they believed in and took pride in, to judging and shaming owners into shuttering our doors if we can’t hit $10 million in under five years.
Like with the rest of our lives, we must get very clear about what we’re willing to fight for and willing to suffer through. What and who will we love, and will it be worth the pain if it doesn’t work out?
I’m still deciding.
When I returned home, I did what anyone does on a Sunday night. I scrolled through Instagram while devouring three tacos, then three more (remember I thought I was going on a walk). These were not artisan-fit-them-in-your-mouth-in-two-bites street tacos. These were like the old-school Old El Paso hard shell version but with new-year-new-me-self-care organic blue corn.
I watched a reel of Mike Lynch, who shared his story of being a business owner to promote his collab with Reef.
I didn’t always know this man’s name. For too many years, Slu and I would hide behind the large concrete pillars in the convention center in Denver, giggling as we worked up enough courage to try to have a normal conversation with him at his booth at Outdoor Retailer. Turned out he was a rep, not the owner, but we didn’t really care. Years later, long after I stopped attending OR, he started his own apparel brand. I was so impressed with what he was building, and I’ve been following along ever since.
His website, newsletters, social presence, and product are so on point. So, it surprised me that he spoke about not having wealth in the form of financial capital. How does he measure success? Grit, persistence, pushing through the moments of pain, having enough, an endless well of creativity, and being able to call himself an artist every day.
How I dream of and work toward a world in which we don’t use the zeros in our salaries or the amount in our bank account to determine whether or not we’ve made it.
Today Lauren and I spoke for a few hours. It’s been months, far too long. Lauren is Coalition’s Creative Director, who’s taken a step back from the day-to-day so that she can focus more on being a mom. We didn’t miss a beat and our conversation gravitated toward the same ideas: We’re taught this capitalist way of accumulating wealth, but how do we unravel that and focus on other currencies? We must have our needs met: food, shelter, safety. But then what? I have all of that and more, and yet, far too often, I still feel like I’m failing.
To kick off every Coalition team meeting, we start with a recap of what Chani has to say about our week ahead because she knows. What I appreciate about her astrology is how it’s not rooted in the individual, it’s rooted in the collective. It’s all about how we use astrology as a tool, as a mirror, to understand ourselves and the world around us and work to create more vibrant, equitable, just spaces.
This week there’s a cazimi with Mercury and Saturn that is encouraging us to get clear and specific about a dream, but ensuring that we hold the reality of the situation.
She said we are told to keep going, amassing, hoarding, and compiling. Rarely are we told to stop and pause and consider what will make you happy, to live a life of purpose, and to feel content with what we have and what we’ve been offered and what we’ve been gifted.
What do we want and why? Is it our dream or is it what the world has told us is the most valuable thing to chase?
This is a week to think big and expansively and generously. The outcome should create good for everyone involved.
When we said goodbye, we chatted about our week ahead and picked back up that conversation that we started when my Vans were a little more white. He looked at me and said, “That’s the thing about the American Dream… you have to be asleep to experience it.” And then I knew what I wanted to write about.