It's been a year of this - #52

And I've got questions.

It’s been a year of Shangrilogs! 52 newsletters, over 100,000 words written, and you. 

I mentioned last week that I was cooking up a reader survey. It’s here and it’d mean a lot to me if you could fill it out. It’s six questions.

This project is special to me, as it brought me back to myself. 

Many moons ago, I wrote a dating blog called Date By Numbers. It’s been long-since retired from the internet, but lives on as the book Anonymous Asked: Life Lessons from the Internet’s Big Sister. (I do not see residuals.) That book was published when I was 28 years old, written mostly when I was 25. Some of the writing makes me climb a mountain, dig a hole, and bury myself in it, but not all of it. I knew then much of what I live now: 

• your gut’s a piano — it’s only gonna sound right if you tune it; 

• it’s rarely about you — not because you’re perfect but because most people are pretty self-involved; 

• if it sucks, either work to find a solution or leave. 

Mostly I learned it is far better to be wholly yourself than anything else. This is obvious. What wasn’t obvious to me (and I assume to a few others out there) is who exactly myself was. 

After that book came out, the writing stopped. Many things happened in 2014-2015 — I was accepted into the Rapha women’s cycling program, my family life changed forever, I left a toxic relationship, I met my husband, I changed my career path, I started therapy, I moved to the Santa Monica Mountains, I got my first car since I was a teenager, I adopted Finn, I met Cooper. I published a piece here and there, really only interested in bylines so as not to disappear into obscurity, but I wasn’t doing any writing for myself. Or rather, writing that I felt compelled to write. I felt compelled to make money, and that was about it. 

It’s easy now to wish I’d been writing that whole time, but regrets are only as useful as what they compel you to do next. And when I moved to this little mountain town, I felt compelled to write.

I’m not sure what qualifies as a religious experience these days, not being very religious myself, but it felt like finding a spring, tapping into oil, rounding the bend to see a rainbow, the waiter telling you your meal’s been taken care of, finding a ticket to Europe for under $200, and a little what this past weekend felt like. You must appreciate it, you must be open to it, and above all else, you must you must you must go with it.

So I did, and here we are.

I’ve always loved this tail end of August into September. The drug store is newly stocked with folders and notebooks, lemonade stands are interspersed with roadside peach and corn stands, “back to school” permeates the culture. Cemented into this rhythm and routine as a child, even after school long since ends and before the idea of my own children begin, I look forward to the jeans and chunky sweaters, thermoses and beanies, and most of all, the sense of studiousness. Autumn has always been my preferred “new year,” burdened less by the resolutions we wear like personal windsurf sails, meant to somehow carry us across the vast ocean of temptations and old habits completely alone, and instead hoisted by the idea that goals are accomplished together, taught by someone who cares, with schedules and benchmarks and even parties to break the monotony of effort.  

Maybe an hour after I threw up because I was so excited.

We’ve been grilling a lot of corn here. We build the fire and turn the corn while old country records turn themselves. August is monsoon season, so most days are wet and rumbling, doors open to the sound of rain on steel cladding. I’ve been trying to find the right pair of jeans – all these skinny jeans from the city feeling too restrictive. I want to feel that mountain air lick up my shin. I’ve been trying to find the right balance of everything. And dare I say, this newsletter helped me on the way. The weekly cadence, the Office Hours offered by the platform itself to ask questions, the camaraderie I’ve found with other writers here — I’m just happy to be here.

I’m starting a new job in September, one that’s guaranteed to be a challenge, but is also only four days a week and is, well, a fucking dream come true. But that fifth day of the week is a gift I will not take for granted — Fifth Day will be used for improving on this project, growing it!, and (come on Kelton, say it out loud)... finishing my novel. Little do you know that every time you’ve said something nice about my writing, I’ve been copying that into a google doc to read like it’s just me and the coach in the locker room before the big game. Being “cringe” is, to me, one of the greatest gifts we get in this life, so reading that document is how Fifth Day will start. 

All to say: thank you so much for reading this. Thank you for all the comments and discussions and thoughtful space you’ve held for each other. I know I am lucky, and I hold this luck close to my heart – I hope you know that wherever and whenever I get a chance, I try to give it back. 

Here are some of my favorite pieces from the past year in case you missed them:

• I bought a house in the middle of nowhere - #1: how we found this home.

• Is this safe? - #19: wind, avalanches, and staying alive.

• But does it have character? - #31: what our homes say about us.

• Can I run from this? - #40: growing up in a gun family.

• What’s your tradition? - #13: a day where dating myself goes wrong.

• What makes a ski bum? - #21: a tribute to my favorite ski bum.

• Is this making friends? - #20: good news is, it was.

If you have enjoyed this newsletter, the kindest thing you can do is share it.

And if you have feedback beyond the survey, I’m always an email away.

A massive thank you to the Substack community for supporting me, especially Bailey, Culture Study, Cole's Climb, Colorado Mountain Running & Living, Brent and Michael Are Going Places, The Storm Skiing Journal and Podcast, So Relatable, and many others. You’re all Shangriloggers to me.

There it is, my little paradise.