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November 20, 2004
who was that girl?
when i was nineteen years old, i had just moved back from the east coast and to utah, where i had poorly thought-out plans to head back to school, get my degree and do...something.
well i ran into the small problem of, well, money. so a girlfriend and i decided to get jobs. we headed up to the slopes and landed jobs at snowbird, working as what was affectionately known as liftie scum. i drove my 1972 bronco up to little cottonwood canyon every morning at the crack of dawn to help tourists and locals on and off the lifts all day long in sub-zero weather. i shovelled snow, skied in hip-deep powder, reprimanded unruly snowboarders, snuck my way into the bar at 4:30 in the afternoon to illegally down $2 pitchers of michelob with my friends, then headed right back down the mountain to manage a pizza restaurant four days a week.
even with all this it was still barely enough to cover the gas to get me back and forth (granted it was at eight miles to the gallon, but gas was cheap and i was oblivious), cover my tiny little studio rented for a whopping $230 a month and cover my phone bill. thank god i had unlimited access to pizza dough, chopped mushrooms, ham, peppers and other condiment-like items because i had nothing in the fridge except milk to mix with the cereal that i stored in my oven.
i never seemed to get tired, rarely got sick, didn't feel lonely or spend a single moment fussing about what i was doing with my life or where the hell i was headed.
i was the kind of girl who laughed so loud it echoed in the canyon, and long lost friends could identify me a half-mile away. when a telemarketer called to tell me i won a giant prize--all i had to do was pony up $29.95--i believed them. i drove 60 miles an hour up the two-lane winding canyon road passing slow, silly californians chunking along with chains on their tires without thinking a moment about my mortality. i trailed (far) behind members of the us ski team kerplunking over moguls that could have (and frankly should have) torn me in two, laughing all the way down.
i didn't think about politics, taxes, car payments, deadlines, budgets, where to have dinner, whether or not to head home for the holidays, what my parents thought, what my friends thought, and i never hesitated fearing a broken heart before falling in love. and i never thought that time would really, pass.
nights like tonight feeling worn down, sick, overworked and a little stressed out with all these things weighing on me...i miss that girl. a lot.
Posted by heidijanet at November 20, 2004 09:14 PM
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Comments
I can completely understand. I miss the little girl who could jump off a 2 storey bridge into only eight feet of water, or take her bike flying down a hill standing on the pedals with her arms in the air. It's not that that person goes away or dies in us, but that we get to an age when our bodies can no longer keep up with our spirits and cautiousness wins out in the end. I think that's one of the many reasons people have children: to nurture and re-experience that reckless spirit through another human being - and a being so very much a peice and extension of ourselves.
It's probably also the reason why so many older folks by convertibles, to go flying down that hill again, with the wind in their hair (but with seatbelts and airbags).
Posted by: Anna at November 21, 2004 10:36 AM
Man, do I ever know that feeling. My only problem is that I'm so neurotic in a way that the area I was most free-wheeling, I was also thinking to myself "This is the most free-wheeling I will ever be! I must enjoy it!" It's weird that I was right -- honestly, I'm not sure if I'd want to be quite that freewheeling again.
Posted by: Ariel at November 21, 2004 12:52 PM
You're still that girl. Only now, you can see what was great about yesterday and last week, and what might be even better tomorrow and next week.
Posted by: lt at November 21, 2004 10:04 PM
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