Dropping In
Reading Time: 3 min
As a relentless adventurer, I can find an action sports correlation for any of life’s challenges. Having some relationship problems? You should try a ladder drop. Questioning what you’re doing with your life? There’s a class III whitewater chute for that. It might sound like a stretch, but when I’m sitting on my bike at the top of a drop-in and my head’s roaring with fear and doubt, my body doesn’t feel any different than it does when I’m trying to psych myself up for a difficult conversation.
drop-in
(noun) the entrance to a technical mountain bike feature, such as a jump or drop.
(verb) to enter a technical mountain bike feature.
Aside from some bruised ribs and sprained fingers, this summer has been good to me, and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to get outside my comfort zone on my mountain bike. I’m hitting jump lines that have felt out of reach for the past 5 years and feeling psychologically and physically prepared to take my riding to new heights. And the most amazing part, the piece of this that never ceases to surprise and delight me, is the fact that each new challenge on the bike directly translates to my readiness and willingness to take on a challenge in my non-bike life.
Right now my non-bike challenge is this - writing. Sharing. Finding a voice that is genuine and serves a purpose. I’ve spent my adult life playing outside and building a career in the outdoor and bike industries, and spent the last several months getting comfortable with the concept of being an expert. Sometimes you want something so bad that you don’t realize that you’ve had it for years. But to become the expert I am today, I had to shut down parts of myself that I see reflected in people that are excluded from the outdoors. And now I’m in the awkward position of having to find and reclaim those parts of myself so I can help rebuild the outdoor community as the welcoming and inclusive place it always should’ve been.
My first steps have been to slap rainbow stickers on all my gear and interject the words “I’m trans” into conversation anytime I sense a semi-appropriate opportunity. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can get more comfortable with a situation even as it remains incredibly awkward, no matter how many times you do it. But seriously, most folks don’t expect me to be trans because they believe they’ve never met a trans person, or they’re queer/trans and aren’t used to seeing themselves reflected in outdoor leadership roles. It doesn’t help that I’ve spent nearly 20 years living as a straight dude - I’m still wrapping my own head around being an out queer person, so I can hardly blame anyone else.
Talking about this is uncomfortable and scary. But a lot of things scare me, not the least of which is this jump line that I’m hoping to ride this season. I’m used to my brain telling me I’m not safe, which makes it a helluva lot easier to push past the psychological stop signs strewn along my path from “straight guy” to queer trans guy. I don’t know if that’s normal, I don’t know if I’m normal, but I’m starting to see and find pride in the exceptional parts of me that I share with other queer folks, and my goal is to help everybody else appreciate those parts as well. I don’t expect to get it right the first time (I’m no stranger to failure and broken bones), but from where I’m standing the next step seems obvious: drop in.
