Deep down and even on the service, we all want to fit in. Geometrically and socially, it feels better to fit in our clothes, cars, shoes, hats and our own ill-fitting, poorly designed skin.
Fitting in your town, neighborhood and culture are more difficult to define and accomplish. Some days I want to fit in, others just blend in. As one ages, one is often content with just being here. In my early days of living la vida Logan, I spent a lot of time and energy purposely not fitting in. I had long hair, earrings and played outsider sports like soccer and ultimate frisbee. I know, those are insider sports now and many young people of indigenous faiths have long hair and even tattoos.
One of my biggest detriments to fitting in was not skiing. My mockery of the activity was epically gnarly. I guess I’m still doing it now. My one concession is that I bought a ski rack for my most recent car. I have never put skis on it, but it looks like I might to others as I drive around town. However, going up Logan Canyon in the winter people honk at me as if trying to remind me that I either forgot my skis or they fell off. It’s like that old trick of gluing a Starbucks cup to your roof just to see how many people will honk at you as you drive through town.
I’ve written many words about our outdoor culture. Some call citizens of this sect granola, hippies, gear heads, Patagonia-Gucci’s, Gorp eaters, trust-i-farians, etc. One of the measures of memberships is the complex equation of the value of the stuff on the roof rack compared to the vehicle under the roof rack. Utah, like most of the West, has a distinctive car/truck culture. There are bonus points to be had if you have an adventure-breed dog hanging its head out of a Subaru window. I still don’t have a Subaru, but I support the life choices of those who do.
The identifying gear has changed. Roller blades and wind surfing boards used to dot the valley like bad food choices, but they seem to have faded away to garage sales. Gear has migrated to e-things such as bikes and boards. They are too slow for the roads and too fast for the sidewalks. Some day we will figure out how many lanes we need to lessen the possibility of killing each other.
I still claim to hate winter though I have lived through 42 of them. Every time I contemplate getting a place in St. George or the Bahamas for winter I acquiesce. Maybe it is the Catholic in me that tells me I need to suffer the winter to deserve the summer.
Do I feel like I fit in now? It’s a lot easier now that I have short hair and don’t wear earrings. I can sort of pass for Mormonish, less gayish and mostly blend-in-ish. Time changes. What used to not fit in, now does.
Historically speaking, we were a one McDonald’s town with a Sears where the previous library was. We had a time when property values dopped and mortgages were 18%. We had a National Championship women’s softball team. We had vegetarian restaurants and Seventh Day Adventists in plain sight.
For now, just let me reiterate, “Hey, you kids, get off our lawns and pickleball courts!
Dennis Hinkamp would really like to play pickleball if he could find an open court.
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