My Climate Story — It All Lead Up to This
A story of adventure, self-discovery, and how I became an advocate for the planet.
At the young age of 7, my father took a photojournalist position at a news station in Colorado. They really mean it when they say that we are a product of our environment. Denver sits east of the Rockies with a desert alpine backdrop. My childhood was full of outdoor wonderment and adventure. Snow storms came and went, like the one in 2003 when it snowed more than two feet over the city. We didn’t go to school for a week. In high school, I would ditch class on Fridays to go snowboarding, driving up the mountain corridor alone in my Jeep. On sunny days, I would meander through trails, sometimes off the path and into the wilderness. There would be days where my mother would ask me why she got an automated message from the school saying that I missed the whole day. I still wonder why my parents gave me so much freedom as a kid. It was my untamed desire to be hugged by the mountain ranges, pulling me closer and closer to the rugged wild. I didn’t care about anything else.
At 16, I fell into my first relationship. He, too, was a nature-wandering moccasin-wearing hippy with a tobacco addiction. A person’s first love is always a bull ride where lessons are learned about how to treat one another and how to let go. We all learn those hard lessons on how to love without possession, on miscommunications, childhood traumas, family trageties... too much to unpack, here. We were carefree, living on the next spontaneous camp trip. We had bonfires in the backyard; we went on secret roadtrips to random parts of the Western US without telling our parents. I remember the dozens of summer nights under the influence of stars, music, and red rock monoliths. Our playground was the Rocky Mountains and I was a wild child on the prairie. It was those mountains that raised us, those rivers that guided us through. The high altitude and cold temps thickened our skin.
I have always had an insatiable appetite to be outside so I moved to Alaska at 19. If you want to build character in a hurry, fly 3,000 miles north, away from anyone you know with a couple hundred bucks and a suitcase full of wool base layers. There I was, in Anchorage. I tried to attend college at the University of Alaska where I found out I would never have a career in dietetics. Contrary to popular belief, winters in Anchorage are rather harsh. It’s dark, it’s frozen over, and everyone around you hasn’t seen the light of day in months. The dark months will put a strain on your good mood, to say the least. I made the best of it, though. Embracing the ski culture, I would drive to Girdwood and take advantage of the 4–6pm $15 dollar lift ticket. Occasionally, the Northern Lights would dance in the sky above Flattop Mountain like cartoonish green waves painted on a black canvas.
In the summer, I would bike to work and teach the local kids how to kayak. I would fish for salmon till 3 am, write music on rainy days, and hang out with Ziggy, the owner of the ivory shop I lived next to. Some weekends, I would work at an oyster farm, where I would sort through thousands of oysters at a time. The stench of decaying sea life and salt was an unforgettable smell but I loved that little dock. Occasionally, beachball-sized jelly fish would float by as we worked. Sea otters would surf on the wake of our boat, reminding us to stay playful. After the summer, things got tough, even for a 19 year old kid. I had failed out of school and ended a long-term relationship. That’s about when I had to say goodbye to the beluga whales, the midnight sun, and the soaring peaks. I headed back home to Colorado with my tail between my legs. It was the first time I had ever felt the painful, embarrassing sting of failure. Little did I know, it would be the first of many times that I would lose myself to life’s chaotic circumstances.
We will run into moments in life that can be described in three words: “crash and burn.” Leaving Alaska was one of those moments where I had crashed and burned. As much pain as I was in, it thankfully shot me in a new direction. I finished college in Vail at Colorado Mountain College. I chased after powder days and boys. It was a time in my life where I felt I reached my prime (Now that I’m a little older and wiser, I know that we have many primes in our lifetime). I was guiding rivers, working for the US Forest Service, and skiing full time in the winter. More time was spent outside rather than in. It wasn’t until 2017 that I would meet someone that would de-rail my steady track. I left behind any and all opportunities to move up in this world. Our relationship was explosive and damaging, to the point where I self-sabotaged and lost everything I had at a critically young age. Now, I do take most of the responsibility for those mistakes but my ex was emotionally abusive and a constant trigger to my anxiety. It was news to me, but there were unhealed traumas lying dormant in my soul. (Trigger Warning: This next section mentions suicide). Another lesson to add to the books: don’t let anyone push you to the point of suicide. No one is worth that pain.
After I realized that I wanted to stay here on Earth for a while longer, I quickly leaned into the things I loved most in order to heal. Nature and outdoor recreation where deeply a part of that healing journey because it was a part of me. Our wilderness spaces can play a major role in someone’s therapy. We owe it to the natural world to look after and care for her the way we would a loved one. After several months of working on myself, I continued my education in sustainability and got a Master’s degree down in Florida. Currently, I am trying to plug myself into wherever there is conservation/restoration work being done.
I still don’t know how that will translate into a career but I’m open to the endless possibilities. I stay grateful to our Earth for holding space for us; may we all experience human joy. Why do I advocate for our planet? I have committed my life to repairing and preserving our natural landscapes because Mother Nature has played a primary role in repairing and preserving me. I was born with an innate love of the wild. Let it be known that it is my life’s mission to advocate for our planet and all things wild.
