6 Steps to Ski Bumming (or actually doing whatever you're trying to do)

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m ready for a beer. Probably a PBR, but any cheap pitcher will do. I weave my way through the groups of buzzed-up skiers and riders, the dogs resting faithfully below tables, the young rippers zig-zagging through the bar, keeping themselves occupied while their parents wind down after another weekend at Bridger.

I remember being one of those kids, but can’t remember ever thinking I would end up here. Oh well. Sorry for partying.

“Here” is Bozeman, Montana, where I landed in the beginning of November – just in time to (sort of) learn the lay of the land from my brother before he jetted off to Switzerland with his girlfriend for the winter. “Here” is also post-grad, pre-career, semi-employed, I-have-no-idea-what-I-am-doing-or-where-I-am-going limbo: the nerves are high, the heat stays low, and the midweek ridge powder rides light and deep. Back on the east coast you hear a lot of talk from the skiers and riders about skipping town and heading west – going somewhere, anywhere for the winter to rip turns all day and pound beers all night. But the reality is, not many do. The reality is...we have no idea how to.

How do you make the leap when everything in your world is telling you you’re going to eat it, hard? You have no car, no pass, no money, no job, and no confidant that will tell you to go ahead and jump anyway. If you’ve got a pull deep in your gut, though – a pull to go somewhere and do something – you’ve got to respond to it. You’ve got to enjoy the ride and hope for a soft landing…and find that through all the chaos, you actually start to fall into place.

My name is Lex: I have no idea what I am doing or where I am going, and for those fellow intentionally directionless, financially hopeless, drunk-on-adventure wanderers out there, here’s my story, and some tips on how to make that move. Whether it’s Connecticut to Montana, Montana to Bali, or just Somewhere to Anywhere, get up, get out, and start being alive.

6. Watch for signs. And follow them. At the end of August, I got a call from my brother, who was living in Bozeman at the time. I’d been living and working on Prince of Wales Island, Alaska for the summer and hadn’t talked to him in three months. Pat and I were never good at small talk – or any sort of talk, for that matter – but his voice sounded different this time…practically giddy. He’d just landed a job caretaking a family’s private chalet in the Swiss Alps for the winter (no joke – thanks TGR forums!) and mentioned that he needed someone to sublet his place for the winter.

I was excited: the heart-throbbing, nauseating, I-can’t-catch-my-breath-and-I-don’t-know-why kind of excited that tells you you’re body and soul know something about what’s going to happen that your brain does not. So I asked for the lease. I didn’t know how I would get there or what I would do when I made it. I didn’t even have a roommate. But I made him promise he wouldn’t give it to anyone else. So when you feel the impulse to make the move, act on it. The more you feel like your going to puke, the better the adventure is going to be.

5. Sack up. You too, ladies. The next few months felt more like an intermission of life than the real thing. I grew up in Connecticut, ski raced out of Vermont, graduated from college that May, hopped on a plane to Southeast three days after graduation, and found myself back in Connecticut with no savings and no job four months later. My friends from school had their own stuff going on – Fortune 500 career paths and facebook addictions, funemployment checks and unemployment debts, law school and grad school and Teach For America – all appropriate niches for certain personalities. But I didn’t fit into any of them.

I graduated with a B.A. in English, minor in Philosophy, what some would call an advanced degree in drinking and skiing from the number one party school in the country. I was basically semi-qualified for a lot of things, and not fully qualified for anything. And I sure as hell didn’t want to waste away in the flatlands of the FC thinking about what could be. I wanted to get out; but I didn’t know how. So I had to suck it up and make a plan: live at home, work my tail off, spend what I need on gear and save the rest to make a move…and don’t let the Man get me down.

4. Work it out. After this past fall, I can now add to my resume line cook, cashier, hostess, tutor, substitute teacher, and SAT proctor. That’s right, when you were 16 you paid 47 bucks to take the test, and now you can get paid $130 to watch the kiddos take it. I’ve never been the type to want or have multiple jobs at once, but if you’re stuck in a place that you don’t want to be and you know you need the cash flow to get out, you’ll find the drive to work those 70 hour weeks. Apply to everything, be persistent, and ask for help from friends and family if it’s available.

There will also be other inevitable kinks to work out: as I said before, I knew I wouldn’t have the savings to buy a car by the time winter started, so I had to explore other options. As I also said before, if you take the leap, things will start to fall into place. I fell into a classy ‘91 Subaru Legacy in the same way I fell into my lease (it would be sitting in neglect anyway while Pat was in the Alps); but there are also other options. Pick a place that doesn’t require a car; check out carsharing.net; throw your skis over your shoulder and a thumb out in the air and any kharma-conscious bum will give you a lift. I actually just picked up my first hitch hiker the other day: his name was Hair Bag (that’s first and last) – he likes snowboarding, Olympia pounders, and not owning a car. Nice.

3. LGA to BZN in T-minus 10. Get the one-way ticket. This may not literally apply to those of you who can pack up a car and drive to your new place, but get in the one-way mindset anyway. I didn’t book a flight until ten days before the departure date. There were so many things to consider: should I stay in this place just a bit longer and save a couple hundred more dollars? Is this a permanent move or should I get a roundtrip ticket? Am I getting the best deal? Is the sky really blue? Is there more than one universe? AHH! What’s going on!

Stop. Don’t flip out. Book that one-way trip. You may be planning to ski bum for three months or wander around Asia for a year – whatever the logistics are, trust that you’ll know if and when to come back when the time comes. But setting a departure date and sticking to it is crucial. And empowering. Let it sink in for a while.

3. Don’t be a Mohini. A.k.a., don’t cage yourself in with your long-held comfortable living patterns. Mohini was the name of a white tiger that lived for several years in the Washington DC National Zoo. Her first and longest home was a 12 x 12 foot iron cage; she spent hours each day pacing the cramped space until biologists decided to build her a more expansive habitat. When they released her into her new surroundings, however, Mohini quickly retreated to a small corner of the space and tread the grass bare by pacing every day in a 12 x 12 foot square. And so she lived until she died.

I found that the closer the day of my flight came, the more I wanted to retreat back into old patterns. Living at home, working hard, saving money…these things aren’t so bad, I thought to myself. It would be so much more comfortable to just…stay put. We’re human beings: we’re all about food, sex, and comfort. So when you feel that resistance creeping around the corner – that innate yearning to sit safely strapped to the conveyor belt that’s been your life for the past x so many years – give it a friendly wave and a smiling take off and get on your way. You were not born to be a Mohini.

2. Touch-down. In the first week of December I packed what I needed into two 49 lb bags and flew to Bozeman. I settled in, explored for a few days, and when the adrenaline wore off and reality kicked in, looked for a job. For me, this was the most difficult aspect of my journey: figuring out how to live my life once I stepped into it. Yes, I want to have plenty of time to ski. No, I do not want to spend all my money and have to leave three months from now. So how do you find the balance?

I set some ground rules for myself that depended on my budget, time frame, and travel plans. I was able to get a pass and part time job through Bridger, which let me ski for free and get enough income for rent and some food. Then I hit Craigslist and the local classifieds hard, and learned that there really are no jobs in Bozeman. Yikes. Right now I’m babysitting for $8/hr two afternoons a week. Hey, it’s cash. And I can still get 3 ridge laps in before noon. Another option: clinical studies. Let a lab slather some E.coli bacteria on your hands and test different cleaning agents on them and you have a hundred more dollars in your pocket. Overall, keep your standards low moderate and your spirits high. And remember what you came here for.

1. I ski, therefore I am. There are a thousand other things I could tell you about jumping into a new place and trying your best to stay afloat. Ride hard; listen to locals; buy the first round; watch out for drama and try not to give anyone a reason to kick your ass; always pack a snack; make new friends, then make more; ski fast and take chances. There may be days when you have no one to hang out with and nothing pressing to do; those are the days that I always come back to myself, to my life, to my purpose for turning my world upside down and ending up in some of the best terrain and most extraordinary natural beauty in the country. I throw on my gear, head up the ridge, have a little more of an idea each time of where I am going and what I am doing, and put down a few sweet runs. However things go, always remember that you have yourself and your conviction to make moves – and keep making them.