I am a dork. I had a vague, deep-in-the-recesses of my mind inkling of the fact that I was a dork long ago, but it literally took decades for me to actually acknowledge the fact that I was not – nor ever would be – as cool as I was, could be, or should be.
Looking back at my history one would think that being a cross country runner in high school should have been a strong indicator, but at that time we told ourselves that we were actually cool, almost defiantly so. Trying in vain to be a cool frat boy in college was a good lesson in dorkdom, but still I thought that I had potential to be cool. My dad was uber-cool, and I thought I could be like him. Here he is on top of the
Grand Teton in the early 60's, as cool as can be:
And I thought I was cool here, when I was fourteen, at my freestyle ski camp:
But then again, I was being a bumper, so even in being cool, I was a dork.
And then my first job at Nike made me feel mildly cool – being associated with a decidedly non-dork company, and all – but this was before I realized that I was more than my job and the Nike mystique didn’t really rub off on me the way that it should have.
Fast forward many jobs, years, relationships, and experiences later to a point – which, to be sure, I can’t really remember – when I said “wow, I am SUCH A DORK!”.
OMG – what liberation! I was free! Dorkdom freed me to not posture among other people to make myself feel better. Free to back away from doing stupid things because…..they are stupid. Free to be self-deprecating without being too hard on myself. Free to make awkward mistakes or comments and laugh them off. Free to do things that I think are practical or clever when others think they are woefully inefficient! (like writing a blog!).
I’m ok with being middle aged and balding (hard to ignore those hard facts of being a dork!), getting old, being faster/better than some and way slower/worse than others, having more money or a better job than some and poorer/less-cool job than others, liking old stuff and hating new stuff, liking new stuff and hating old stuff, shaving my legs or not shaving my legs, wearing a skinsuit or not wearing a skinsuit, skiing on skinny skis or fat skis or a snowboard (or even telemark skis! As the sticker says “no one cares that you tele”). Even when I’m racing I’m a dork:
And as if snowshoeing weren’t ultimately dorky enough, I actually crashed doing it, with a resulting wound!
Of course, like everything, embracing your inner dork isn’t all good and does have its disadvantages; I often say that I can’t really take myself anywhere, and Ashley usually agrees with me. Though among the many beauties of Ash is that she has also embraced her inner dork, and actually quite a long time before I did:
And I grew up with Brother Paul, whom I give credit for paving the way for me:
And have friends like this excited young lad - who get all excited about their new beacon – and also long ago embraced their inner dork.
And though I will admit that on this day, at this moment, with this girl, I was feeling pretty awesomely non-dorky:
I am a Dork......
and it’s OK.
Now I just gotta work on my FOMO……