I am Not a Dirtbag

Photograph courtesy of Andrew Lowers

Climbing has taken me up and down the east coast, and despite the humidity, this spring and summer was spent largely in the southeast. The Tennessee Wall, more commonly known as T-Wall, would be much too hot to climb in the summer months, so instead, I explored Chattanooga’s shadier crags: Leda and Sunset Rock.

The percentage of rain for most of the trip stayed at a constant sixty-percent chance. By the time we pulled into the Craven's parking lot, it had already begun to gently sprinkle but we hiked into Sunset from the Craven parking area until we reached the giant roof of the Drain Pipe (5.11a). Perhaps it was wishful thinking that staved off the rain enough to be suckered into racking slings to cams.

4s are butterflies stacks for me. By the way—I am not a crack climber. Having learned to climb in the Gunks, I am a face climber who knows how to plug gear in horizontal cracks. Regardless of inexperience, I placed the backs of my hands together, and tucked my thumbs down to form a cupped hand. This looks...wrong. The roof shortly opened up from 4s to 5s. 5s—hallelujah! Although, perhaps I was too quick to start rejoicing as I sound found out there was a severe lack of feet throughout the traverse.

Have you heard of half-aiding, half-groveling? I’m well-versed in both techniques at this point, and I was willing to gain the offwidth by any means necessary. I wedged body parts into sections of the crack for security and utilized the outside edges of the crack. The offwidth went clean, and I was proud to have accomplished that. That night, I went to dinner tired, sore, thrashed, and bleeding in various places—but I was happy.

For my twenty-second birthday, my boyfriend at the time gathered some of our east coast friends for a dinner in Manhattan. He worked in the wine industry and thus, had some connections in the food industry that worked out well for us. Birk’s birthday was just a few weeks behind mine, and so we planned on celebrating together, Manhattan-style.

Between the laughter and wine, Birk turned to me and said with a little bit of that Colorado charm, "Isn’t this what our life should be? Good friends, good food, good wine." So smitten with him during our relationship, I imagined this very life. When he told me that I should think about moving up to Boston with him while he was applying to grad school, I deeply considered this. What more was there in life? Good friends, good food, good wine.

Unfortunately, a sorta tumultuous breakup shortly followed in the months to come. Birk wished to further grow his career in wine and I was too afraid to move to New York City. It ended during an annual ice climbing trip and, devastated, I ironically found myself moving to the Brooklyn alone.

But that breakup and move was a catalyst for much-needed change in my life, and four years later—those words could perfectly describe my current life situation (plus rock climbing and a snuggly puppy.) Friends, support, unconditional animal love, new plans—yes, my world was shifting in bright, new ways.

Photograph courtesy of Nick Lanphier

I am not a dirtbag climber. I say this because: I have bills, I have an apartment to pay rent for, and I work really hard for a paycheck. I also don’t exist on the other end of that spectrum, either. Neither one really feels quite right. On the one hand, I want to figure out how to move through this world with grace and make a living for myself. On the other, I want to make a life. And I am constantly questioning myself—how do I put both hands together, and what does that life look like?

Recently, a high school friend of mine moved to Europe and dropped me a line. Not having spoken for several years and despite the fact that we live vastly different lives (Laura is a CPA, has worked for MTV, and probably has health insurance), we exchanged emails back and forth for days. Laura writes to me: she doesn’t want to be single forever, but the life that she envisions for herself feels incompatible with the majority. We both want thriving, loving relationships with real depth. Perhaps even a family someday, she writes. But we are both, in ways, completely unwilling to sacrifice certain things for the other—for Laura, travel. For myself, climbing and travel.

At this point, I can’t envision myself compromising climbing for a nine to five scenario. It isn't wrong to want that sort of thing, but I also don't think it's wrong to not want it, either. I reflect on these kinds of thoughts on a regular basis because I have a lot of doubt. But then, with one swooshing sound of an email notification, Laura’s words gave me the validation I needed: "If there are takeaways from this, let it be me telling you the thing I constantly try to tell myself: you are doing the right thing by refusing to ignore the possibilities of your life. You earned that proud feeling when you wake up in the morning and step outside to the places and things you always wanted."

I am not a dirtbag climber. I’m definitely no money bags, either. But I’m also not just some dreamer, haphazardly following a lifestyle on a whim. I’m pretty certain that the road to happiness is littered with similar doubts and questions, but the point is to ask them and not be deterred. If anybody asks, I’m still “figuring it out”. And if anybody asks what that means, it means: I'm going to keep living life according to my own happiness, letting all of the passion I absorb be passion released.

Cover photograph courtesy of Jason Gebauer