A year short of 30, I decided to drop most everything in my beloved West Coast Wonderland to chase a girl half way across the country.
Family, a tribe of friends, a movie set city and quick access to every single one of my self-indulgent outdoor and indoor vices couldn’t, against every logical synapse firing in my head, hold me back from going after her and landing here in Denver, CO.
Because of love. Because I have no idea what’s going to happen: adventure defined in simplest terms. And a life ruled by aversion to adventure doesn’t allow for the reward inherent in the risk. Because in life there is no exchange policy, and at least once you’ve got to relax, slack the shoulders, and yell ‘Ah, fuck it’ in the direction of a major purchase and watch your own private chaos theory unfold.
Yes, it’s one of the most Pointless Endeavors to date.
And you, Kiddies, are all privy to the leap. Thanks to the miracle of Al Gore’s modern technology, the uniting folks at blogger.com, and my boundless flair for the creative license, I’ll be reporting the Pointless Endeavors of Colorado in this space. If I’m lucky, it’ll document an extension of the many ridiculous (-ly f*ckin cool) stunts, pickles, thoughts and acts of ‘endearing’ alienation in which we found ourselves pantless or hurt back in California. Maybe it’ll be pictures, videos or stories of new ski gear and how it was broken, Bora Bora, jumping out of airplanes, travel do’s (bring your passport) and don’ts (if it’s been expired for 20 years), the art of wearing a fake mustache, suffering through a triathlon for the first time, the zen of large auto parts landing on your head, getting yelled at by local surfers, Vegas baby, black furry apres-ski boots, a guy named Dirty who’s a veterinarian in Manhattan, cooking show therapy, the value of a good stuntman, the joy of having so many best friends that you have to hold a two day, ten person contest to see who will be your best man, the best excuses for ditching work, the miracle of tequila, sand, foam, WHATEVER. I promise it’ll be pointless and I also promise at the very least you’ll find perspective. Because if anything else, you’ll be glad it wasn’t you who was lifted off a river, via rescue helicopter, for essentially no reason at all.
The West Coast was home – I know how much ass it kicks and I’m sure I’ll be back. But for now, I’ll ride this Manifest Destiny Rebound and stake the Rockies as my new frontier, preaching Pointless Endeavor gospel to fellow skiers, climbers, bar patrons and embracers of the silly.
Cheers.
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