About My Deracination / Irony

2. to remove, as from a natural environment

[from Old French desraciner, from des- dis-¹ + racine root, from Late Latin rādīcīna a little root, from Latin rādīxa root]

deracination n

… I recently described my permanent home—Aspen—as “no one was more surprised than me when I decided to stay here.”

I was removed from my natural environment of sunny, hot, free-wheeling Austin, Texas and transplanted into sunny, cold, action-sports-oriented Aspen, Colorado. I have chronicled the parallels of the towns, of which there are surprisingly numerous, but I am still in awe that I’ve chosen to stay here over and over again. I’ve tried to move to Cali twice now, and backed out both times. Something about this magical, mystical, other planet-ly town keeps me here.

Much of it is adventure—the whole spirit of I never thought I’d end up here—that holds me. It still seems the illogical, strange choice, and I like and embrace that notion. We all know I love contradiction.

Much of it is challenge—I often refer to myself as a lil baby Texan when referring to my skiing skills, choice of outfits, and disdain for cold weather—because there is so much to learn: skiing, snowboarding, rock climbing, dating in a small town, dirt biking, hiking, extreme discount airfare booking to go anywhere, backpacking, eating bar menus, camping, wearing a headlamp home from the bars to fend off the bears, hut tripping, skinning, wearing layers, hockey … the longer I’m here, the more there is to learn.

Much of it is the questions—that on my own, why would I have ever left Austin? I had a great career, great friends, great blog (teehee) … and it’s taken me a little bit of time to build those things elsewhere. But moving has also given me the freedom to explore who I am and what I want, instead of riding the wave of what I had built. And those questions, while scary as hell, are pretty freaking awesome too.