In Park City, Sans Cooler on Wheels
The first experience I had being new in town was three and a half years ago when I moved to New Orleans for school. After an hour in the soupy humidity, I immediately felt like an outsider. I hadn’t gained the 10 pounds New Orleanians consider your “credibility”, I couldn’t spell Tchoupitoulas street let alone tell you where it was, and I wasn’t sure about the function of a “go-cup” (turns out that one’s pretty self explanatory).Luckily, the lack of open container laws in the city enables you to walk down the street toting a cooler on wheels full of beer, essentially screaming, “I’m the kind of person you want to be friends with”. As a result, feeling new only lasted a little while. Three and a half years later (and sure enough, 10 pounds more credible) after graduating, I was absolutely heartbroken to leave the city and the people that became my home.
Being new in Park City is a little different, especially sans cooler on wheels. Not only have I not yet mastered all of the vocabulary that rolls off the tongues of veterans of the mountains, but also there is no longer anything about me that screams, “be my friend!” Despite these minor setbacks, what I’ve realized over the eleven days I’ve been in town is that there is an equalizer here much larger than a twelve-pack in an icy cooler. The mountains are something we all share. As the new girl my first true powder day looked a lot more like sitting my way down the mountain than skiing—definitely NOT spreading any sort of stoke. But when I got to the bottom (nine years later) my brother was still proud of me because I had embraced one of the challenges that the place I get to call home has to offer. I began to understand more and more that no matter if you started wearing skis the moment you could stand on your own two feet, prefer to hike, or simply get to see the views during your morning commute, the mountains belong to everyone. And as a result, everyone is able to belong in the mountains.
- : Standard