The Space Between

There were intentions of taking daily pictures this year so I could maintain at least a weekly blog post. Yet here I am, over a month after making that sort-of resolution and finding that I have made one post and taken probably about the same number of daily photos. An exaggeration; there are at least two.

In protest, I'll put the blame somewhere else, like on the guy who skied out in front of me. Just a few days after I set my New Year's "Meh-solution," I suffered what skiers call the "Terrible Triad" — the tearing of three crucial knee ligaments — because of his oblivious maneuver. I realized, too late, that ski racing while uninsured was stupid. I stopped spinning, clutched my right knee and felt like cursing for one of the few times in my life.

My first thought was that I let my team mate, Katie Smith, down by not being able to finish the race. I then thought of my job (adventure journalism) for which being mobile seemed to be a necessity (not many adventures happen on the couch). That led to my next thought: How the heck I was going to pay for my knee to be fixed? The last sobering thought: my mom.

I knew what was coming. After her questioning my well-being twenty times and how the accident happened and how I was going to take care of myself and if I had help and telling me she wished she could be there to assist (she lives 2500 miles away), it was going to come: The question about my lifestyle choice.

I live against the flow of the larger society, though I'm surrounded by like-minded people which means I don't notice my nonconformity until I talk to friends and family back home.

So, after talking to my mom back home, I noticed it.
. . .

The past few weeks on the couch have been rough. Insurance was applied for dutifully through healthcare.gov back in October, then November, then December, each time with some answer that my application was delayed or missing. It still hasn't gone through. That means I'm dealing with a debilitating injury sans insurance, and trying to figure out how the heck to get care. I also had to drop out of the classes I signed up for this semester at university, as I was now unable to drive anywhere. The consequences of dropping meant dealing with the hassle of tuition reimbursement, submitting withdrawal requests and appeals for delayed entrance, should I decide to stick around Utah long enough for another semester to approach.

Then there's been the pain. The pain of moving my leg, of not moving my body, of a restless mind, of unproductiveness. There's the pain that the world is spinning by without my seeing it. That a month of my life has been confined to four walls and no loved ones.

Under it all, my mom's question smolders: Why do you choose this lifestyle?

She wants the best for me. Skiing was where I poured nearly all my energy. I tried to capture it in photos and words. I crisscrossed the continent in search of it. I pushed myself to perfect technique — though I'm far from attaining it. Free moments were spent thinking about bigger travels and bigger lines. And this injury is what I now have to show for it. To my mom, that is not enough.

For the first time in my life, I wonder if it is enough for me.

I look at Facebook updates from friends who "conformed": Families, dogs, houses, enough money to pay for health insurance. Enough money to not have to choose between food and gas. Little hands that are always getting into messes and bigger hands to hold. Sunday dinners.

Then I post my Facebook status: another photo from another stunning, wild place. Often solo.

What was so fulfilling at one time, what felt so empowering, is beginning to feel like a decoy leading me from where real happiness resides: Friends. Family. Washing the tiny hands of my nephews before they are too big to need my help. And for the first time in a long time, maybe even a bigger hand that holds my own. Not just for two years, or seven, but for good.

These are the thoughts that come more frequently into my mind this past half a year. The cross-road decision: I either give it up and settle down or pursue what might never be fulfilled.

I have to face it: There may never be a rewarding career in doing what I love. Relationships might always be squeezed into short conversations before cell phone reception cuts out. There might never be that other half who can handle, let alone be passionate about, traveling with someone addicted to new vistas and enthralled with an untethered existence — and open to taking that journey with me.

I'm stuck between two worlds, wanting the stability of my own family but wanting the freedom of the wild. I was once positive that the two could mesh — and would if I stayed true to myself. I'm not so sure anymore. The longer I travel down the unconventional road, the further it divides from what my mother wants for me and what I ultimately want as well.

There's no pretty way to wrap up this post since I haven't got life figured all out, so I'll let the words end where my answers do.