Ambivalence

1996. 1998. 1999-2006.

These are the Memorial Day weekends that I have spent in Aspen, each one moving on a sliding continuum away from deserted. The first year I visited over Memorial Day weekend, the only restaurant open was the Silver City Diner (or at least the only one I specifically remember, maybe because it no longer exists). I had a very authentic Philly cheesesteak there. You can't get one of those these days in Aspen. Maybe Pour La France was open too, but they're long gone also. It was quiet, like I had the whole place to myself. Just what I was looking for on my solo getaway. I spent 4 days meandering around, driving out to the surrounding sights, taking pictures and pandering to my whims.

My next Memorial Day weekend trip, I brought a friend. This time I was sharing Aspen, both with my friend and with quite a few more people. More restaurants were open, they were skiing the top half of Aspen Mountain, the town had a whole different vibe. Of course, it's all relative; if you asked my friend, she'd probably comment on how quiet it was.

The next year, the year I moved here, I told my father that it had probably doubled from the previous year, the number of people around, the number of businesses open. Each year since then, while they tend to run together now that I'm not making a special trip, seems busier. In the past, Aspen was visited in the winter, then it was the summer and the winter, leaving the shoulder seasons deserted (even the locals left town). Now, the tourist season spreads out. More people come, more businesses stay open, and more people come.

The locals in Aspen have an ambivalence towards visitors. We love our town and we love that others love it. The visitors make it possible for those of us who live here to do so and we know it. And yet, perpetually dealing with people on vacation wears thin. Some people leave their manners at home when they go on vacation. Like most negative phenomena, they are a minority but they often overshadow the silent majority.

And so, I love walking around town when I have it all to myself. But I wouldn't want to always have it all to myself. I love walking around town when I'm sharing it too. There's an infectious energy level on a summer or winter evening in high season. The beauty of it is that we get to have it both ways. And, if that wasn't enough, when it all gets too crazy, I can walk up the street and disappear into my own little quiet haven in paradise.

Seven years

Seven years ago this weekend, I moved here. I gave away almost everything I owned and packed the rest in a Uhaul trailer. I rented a cabin sight unseen (well, there were photos) and drove out here to start anew.

Why? There wasn't any particular catalyst. I had been living in the Chicago suburbs for almost 7 years at that point, quite near to where I grew up. I had had the same job for 6 years but that was about to change.

I basically back into big change. For the second time in my life, I retracted my acceptance of a new job to chuck it all and move across the country. First, 700 miles from Maryland to Chicago, then 1200 miles from Chicago to Aspen. I start thinking about changing my employment and, I don't know, decide the change isn't big enough. Next thing I know, I'm changing my time zone.

Cultural Phenomena

Hard to pigeon-hole? Sure, I take pride in it. I've used Enigma for my log-in. I enjoy it when people find out something about me and say, "I would never have thought that you'd ______!"

Aspen has a high concentration of oddities. Someone told me once that the Utes believed that there were metals in the mountains that attracted those sorts. We look at our friends and neighbors, our co-workers and fellow Roaring Fork Valley denizens and we say, "We're all a bunch of freaks."

And yet . . .

I don't want to be too different, too weird, too out there. I want to present normality but then, surprise.

Isn't this the American way? We give lip service to our individuality and yet, we secretly (or not so secretly) prize our conformity. When traveling, my husband always wants to stop at the out of the way place, the small local (read, non-chain) restaurant or hotel. But my comfort zone revolves more closely around the known. And, given the saturation of the McDonalds and the Best Westerns, I'm hardly alone.

Imitation as flattery or laziness?

So, here I go copying from my friend's blog, Ruined for Life, again.

I took the Enneagram Test even tho I really have no idea what it is. I had the most indicators (8) for Type 8 so according to them, I'm a Type 8. But I had almost as many indicators (7) for Type 1. So, what does that mean?

Like the European city thing, I appear to be hard to pigeon-hole.

free enneagram test

Type Eight
The Challenger
The powerful, aggressive type. Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. Protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be ego-centric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating. Eights typically have problems with their tempers and with allowing themselves to be vulnerable. At their Best: self-mastering, they use their strength to improve others' lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring.


free enneagram test

Type One
The Reformer
The principled, idealistic type. Ones are conscientious and ethical, with a strong sense of right and wrong. They are teachers, crusaders, and advocates for change: always striving to improve things, but afraid of making a mistake. Well-organized, orderly, and fastidious, they try to maintain high standards, but can slip into being critical and perfectionistic. They typically have problems with resentment and impatience. At their Best: wise, discerning, realistic, and noble. Can be morally heroic.

A Passion for 'Wobblies'

I read The Orchid Thief not too long ago. I had seen Adaptation when it came out and found it to be intriguing, disturbing, over the top, memorable . . . The car accident scenes stunned me. With no foreshadowing, they were so real and all the more powerful for their shockingness.

The book, however, mostly depressed me. Not that it wasn't good or interesting or intriguing in its own right. I learned a ton about orchids and the heretofore unknown (to me) world that orchid lovers inhabit. I didn't have to force myself to finish it. I just reacted to it on a very personal level.

Passion. What am I passionate about? I can't identify anything. Laroche's passions were all-consuming and fleeting. They weren't presented in a flattering or attractive light. And yet, as I read the book, I continued to feel that my lack of passion suffered in comparison.

Orleans spends much of the book in a similar place, being "fascinated by (passion), partly because [she] never . . . had that kind of devotion to a single interest." But, in the end, she is redeemed in that she realizes that she too has a passion, "the passion to be a writer and reporter." Her discovery left me even more alienated. Where I thought throughout the book that I had an ally, in fact I was alone in my passionlessness.

I am an analytical being. I have a hard time taking a strong position on issues because I have the ability, the affliction, to argue multiple sides of an issue. I see all the complexities and sometimes envy those for whom these things are simple and straightforward (one of whom is my husband).

Last September, NPR’s This I Believe, aired an essay from Ted Gup, “In Praise of the 'Wobblies.'” “I always seemed to stand in the no-man's land between opposing arguments, yearning to be won over by one side or the other, but finding instead degrees of merit in both.” Here was someone giving voice to me. I was excited. I immediately emailed the link to my husband. “See, it’s not only me!,” I was telling him.

Being a “Wobbly” is part and parcel of my struggle with passion. Perhaps I do have a passion. Perhaps my passion is my thirst, my desire, to know. Not a desire to know the answer but to know things, to know stuff, to see all sides.

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Technology is wonderful. I enjoy my computer and am amazed by how often during the day I turn to Google to satisfy some curiosity. But, for all of the time saving benefits of technology, I certainly waste a lot of time trying to make it work. Between my home network, my inter- and intra-office networks and my internet connections, it seems like there's always some glitch.

My present glitch which has consumed approximately an hour of my time over two days is trying to add a photo to my profile. Every time I jump through all of the hoops to upload a jpg file and add it to my profile, I get an error message telling me I'm not using a jpg file. Oh, but I am, again and again.

My husband knows better than to tell me about a computer glitch unless he's prepared to give over his computer for however long it will take me to puzzle out the solution. God forbid we have somewhere to be. I'm stubborn about these things and generally eventually I get it figured out.

So, I'm not done with this glitch. How much time will I invest in this issue before I either succeed or give up?

London?

You Belong in London

You belong in London, but you belong in many cities... Hong Kong, San Francisco, Sidney. You fit in almost anywhere. And London is diverse and international enough to satisfy many of your tastes. From curry to Shakespeare, London (almost) has it all!

What European City Do You Belong In?

I seem rather indecisive. Either that or noncommittal. But I'm going to London in less than a month for the first time so I'll report back.

Paradise

I live in the mountains at 8000 ft, hence the name, Mountain Musings .

Introductory posts are tough. What to share? What of my experience is of consequence? I suppose some might find my journey inspiring. Raised upper middle class on the North Shore of Chicago, off to DC for college and law school, headed for a cookie cutter existence, only to chuck it all and move to the mountains. Sacrifices (mostly financial) which cause doubts but when the grass looks greener on other side of the fence, I'm often reminded how green it is over here. Perhaps some can have it all (although I wonder) but the deal that I've struck seems a good one.