It's been sunny all weekend, and as much as I love powder days, I absolutely and completely love snowboarding in the sunshine. I'm happy.
And so, while I usually write about nerdy designer topics, this one is for the ski bums.
Here is something I understand more every day:
Ski bums grow up.
(Most of them at least, aside from the iconic couple of old crusty guys who still party like they're 20 and look like they're 90.)
But anyway, ski bums grow up.
They leave the mountains or move down to Denver or have a kid or something. They move on. But the thing is, when you've lived and loved the ski bum life, you can never fully shake it. It's impossible to let that part of you die.
You can quiet it, but you can't kill it.
You–mountain people–are my favorite clients. Collectively, you are growing up, getting your shit together, and starting businesses. Society seems to let you slip through the cracks, but I see you:
-You're the guy who lived at Alta for ten years and is finally moving down valley to start your own contracting company.
-You're the ripping lady who lived in Crested Butte for seven years and decided to finally dust off the master's degree and start your own environmental consulting business when slinging drinks didn't cut it anymore.
-You're the couple from Jackson who decided to start a family and your own real estate agency so you can afford to raise those kids here.
-You're the guy who had your sights on being a pro snowboarder until an injury changed that game, so you finished your business degree, restlessly and swiftly and are ready to put it to use. You will start the next major outerwear line.
-You're the entire crew at Backcountry where I used to work in Utah, and one by one, you're starting to branch out and do your own thing.
You are my people.
Easing back on the shredding and turning up the "real" work is The Worst. It's a tough transition. Instead of putting on outerwear, you wear clothes that aren't even waterproof or breathable, and you go to work wishing you had more time to ski again, blankly staring at your computer screen knowing last year, you'd be hitting pillow lines at a 9:30 rope drop instead of this shit.
You feel lost.
You feel bored.
You worry that your adrenal glad is broken and that you will never feel true fun again.
So you do the next scariest thing you can think of and start your own business.
You are my people.
The thing is, mountain people, you are awesome business owners. You know about risk. You know about passion. You know about hard work, early mornings, and tenacity. You know about loss and getting slammed. You know how to pick yourself up and try again and again until you succeed.You know how to feel things, with your heart and your head and the pit of your stomach. You might not know about web design or finance or spreadsheets, but you know how to show up, rain or shine, and make things happen.
You are my favorite type of client, and your experiences will help your business succeed.
I see you, with your scars from the knee surgeries or those weird-looking collarbone lumps protruding from your shirt and that wild look in your eyes, and I know what you know. I've seen what you've seen. And together, we can pretend to fit into normal society. We just have to run our businesses with honor and boldness and as much grace as we can muster.
And powder days.
Or at least sunshine.
Is this you?
You can also READ THIS ON TETON GRAVITY RESEARCH.
By: Lisa Slagle
The other day, I heard someone say that you have to be “adorably naive” to do something risky like eat a new food, jump out of an airplane, or quit your job to finally start your dream business, that tying something new and big requires a bit of happy ignorance and a lot of motivation.
I thought about the concept of “adorable naivety” all week.
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