Here are the directions if you want to go alpine touring in the Sierra Nevada from my place:
1 – Walk out front door, turn right
2 – Walk to end of street
3 – Step into bindings, begin skiing
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[col_3] [I]n 2006 I was living in Palos Verdes in the South Bay area of Los Angeles. It was by any measure a very pleasant life, but the pleasures were all purchased with 70 hour weeks in an office, and in meetings, and in airports, and in hotels, and in presentations, and then another airport, and then dinner at midnight since we’re all wired, and each of us, all of us, are pecking at the Game-Boy, checking those emails. This was a time in my life when I looked for the send time of emails and gloated that mine were always sent the latest. This was the Bluetooth earpiece, Fine Oak MacAllan, 5 Series on the 405, 24 Hour Fitness at 5AM, barking at valets, Fashion Island, tanning booth, fleet of motorcycles in the garage, fleet of watches on the winder, desktop humidor of bootleg Cohibas, enjoying the meaningless flirting of women trying to sell me things, frequent flyer business class upgrade, spare no expense because this is the place everyone wants to get to and I work too damn hard not to enjoy it time in my life.
Weekends – when I could steal one – were still adventures. Take the Ducati up to Angeles Crest. Take the 650 down to Baja and Mike’s. Go climbing. Go skiing. But there was something hollow about the trips. Something purchased about them, rather than earned. Dismissed as an expedient, of course. I need to cheat a little here and there because my life doesn’t allow me to immerse myself in the things I love completely. Instead, I sneak away to them and buy progress to make the most of the weekend.
Many years ago I drove around America for a month. No map, no plan, no agenda. Just drove and took photographs. I met a lot of people, and spoke to some of them with the easy intimacy two people who are never going to speak again can share.
[/col_3] [col_4]A woman in Iowa told me the best thing that ever happened to her was her house burned with everything in it. She got to go back and start over, knowing what she knew now. See, it’s all about perspective.
2008 laid me low. Really low. Even if I had saved, even if I had invested, it wouldn’t have mattered. What I was doing to earn it disappeared like a carnival leaving town one step ahead of the cops. What I did have saved melted away before I could learn not spend it on what I had been spending it on. I count myself lucky to have been single without kids. Peers I know with those responsibilities had no way out. Wives don’t like moving. I learned this from my friends. They especially don’t like moving when it’s not by choice and sudden. Kids don’t like moving. Some of my friends aren’t married anymore.
Me, I went to Thailand for 6 months. And somehow what started with the goal of regrouping and planning my next move, that somehow went shitstorm and laid me even lower. When I flew back into SeaTac I had a carry-on bag. No, but I did. That was all I owned. And in the absence of any other assets, I fell back on the only one I had left. I still had perspective, and I embraced the idea that I was now completely open to literally any possibility I chose to move toward. I realized when I had traveled in the past, gone on adventures, gone climbing, or taken a trip on the bike, there was always this surrounding vibe of ceremony. But that ceremony, it wasn’t real. It was all purchased. As I travel now I choose ritual over ceremony. I choose kinship and connection. I allow myself to see what I have in common with people. Without the props that I had surrounded myself with to remind people – and myself – of my status, I could see friends where previously I had seen competition. I learned to share, and trust, and to let myself learn from others.
I realized I enjoy cooking for my friends. Not snacks, but a meal. And not a meal to impress, full of foodie ingredients no one has ever heard of and can barely pronounce. Simple, solid, healthy food, plenty of wine, and plenty of easy conversation. I realized I enjoy the solitude of the backcountry more than any other place I’ve ever known. I realized the things that matter to me most should be what I am, and what I do, and how my character resonates with others. What I own doesn’t matter.
[/col_4] [col_3]What I give in time and knowledge and spirit is how I will be remembered, and I want those memories to be great ones.
I realized this world we live in, and this country, it runs on money and I have no desire to change that. But rather than trade my life away hour by hour so I can buy back joy or peace or accomplishment, I can choose to let my living be a task I believe in. Some people are lucky enough to have sorted this out already. Me, it took some thinking. I solved it though, and now I make custom knives. Always wanted to. Never did. Never thought I could. Now I do, simple as that. And while my lifestyle is unimaginably Spartan by some standards, my exposure is minimal, and I don’t have any fear of losing anything. My rules are simple – I won’t own more than I can comfortably fit into an SUV, and I won’t care about more than I can carry into the backcountry and haul for days and days.
[T]hey’re calling for 2 feet of snow tonight. Tomorrow morning I’ll skin up fresh powder to the Crest and look down over Half Dome into the Yosemite Valley. I will do this from my front door, with no driving required.Joining me will be the ghosts of half a dozen friends. Some of them never set foot off a sidewalk in their life, but they travel with me all over the world. I was blessed with the time to realize how I truly wish to live. Some of them, they left this world before they sorted it. I know they would have, had they been given the time. Me, I’ve been given the time, and it seemed a shame to waste it.
[/col_3] [/row]Words and Photography by: William Johnston. Check out his hand crafted knives here