Exactly two years ago today, I had my dirt bike rejetted for sea level after a much anticipated move to the beach from my prior 6200′ elevation of mountain living. I remember being as excited as I was the day I bought the bike. That rejetting, a simple thing, really…signified I’d actually made my long awaited transition back to salt life. I had ridden dirt for 14 years when I moved. It was a huge part of my life. I kept riding with people who had more experience than me and they helped me get better, and I, in turn, helped greener riders move to next level riding. (To quote Bruce Lee, “If I told you I was good, you’d probably think I’m boasting, but if I told you I was no good, you’d KNOW I was lying.” : ) Today, my gear bag sits mostly untouched, as one of the trade offs of returning to coastal living, well, does have trade offs. The life you crave will, too. I don’t have gnarly trails and battle wounds to share with my riding buddies after a long day of riding, anymore. I don’t have RIDING BUDDIES anymore…and, if I tried to crush a Moab moderate right now, I’d probably be airlifted out of a canyon. I miss it. But to circle back to my point, if you only focus on what you’re giving up to live authentically, you’ll never make the move. Internalizing that you WILL give up some things to live the life you want is not limiting, but fabulously liberating. I won’t ride today. But, I WILL swim in the ocean, jump out of planes, laugh with my friends I’ve made on the island, reminisce about my chosen family back in the mountains of Colorado and wonder what route they’re climbing this weekend. (Yeah, I miss climbing, too.) And, I will have all the feels that this day has serendipitously brought. I hope you live your passion. I hope you cry hard when you say goodbye to the people who have taken root in your hear. I hope you miss parts of your old life. But, more than that, I hope you listen to that little, illogical voice that knows you best. You deserve to scare the shit out of yourself, quit the job you hate, leave the climate that doesn’t suit you and charge, full speed at the thing you fall asleep thinking about. I’ve done this a few times, now, and I’m always saddened to meet someone who lives inside their mental cage, with the door wide open. Go. I’ll see you out there. Peace, warriors. 
Tangled Lights 