The Ski Journal • Volume 16, Issue 1 • BUY THE DAMN TICKET

“German style master Konstantin Ottner finds his turn in Axamer Lizum, above Innsbruck, Austria. Ottner dreamed up this shot of spraying the tram and I followed along for the ride. It was a dry spell, but Ottner found just enough residual pow. The tram driver found it quite amusing.” Photo: Daniel Bear

I am one cheap son of a gun. The kind of frugal that orders the side salad, but eats all the free breadsticks. The one whose formative childhood memories involve finding hidden sales racks and reading coupon books before bed. Sure, I have a favorite fabric, if duct tape counts.

Stinginess is a character trait that’s evolved into an identity. I’m OK with that. It’s helped me live richly, without living beyond my means. The saltine sandwich crowd knows what I’m talking about.

Problem is, when it comes to actually spending money, I get squirmy. If you’ve penny pinched for long enough, you probably know the feeling.

So when the group text started in September, a familiar fiscal anxiety pricked at my stomach lining. Japan. This was the year. Everybody was in. Everybody.

We settled on Hokkaido, but little else. For six whole weeks, ideas swirled and video links decorated the feed. Our group created and recreated itineraries, brainstorming until the ideas clouded our vision.

Naturally, my nerves grew by the day. The bail receptors started to blink as I plotted my way out of the best powder skiing of my life. And I wasn’t the only one. Lange echoed the financial burden of a flight across the Pacific. Dyer worried about logistics. Tori and Harrison lamented work and family commitments. Eric said tickets would get lower if we just waited a little longer. Then again, would they? Our list of excuses mounted as we turned the calendar page, the dream slowly slipping through our fingers.

Fear is a powerful thing. It exists to keep us safe, to keep us from falling off that ledge. But it rarely gives us the courage to look over that drop-off and—forgive the cheesy ski metaphor—check if there’s a soft landing on the other side. With only half the picture, our brains fill in the rest, oftentimes opting for survival without fully assessing the broader implications. Japan would be there. We could go next year, right?

Years before, I’d been in Brazil with my buddy Alec and we’d reached the end of our travel cash. On one of our last days, there was a guided waterfall trip far off the beaten track. Sure, I wanted it, but dang was that cutting my budget close, and Alec’s too. Before I could get the whole resignation out of my mouth, he cut me short. “We’re going, I’m covering your ticket and that’s it,” he said.

Alec had his hesitations, but he’d seen the soft landing and dragged me along for the ride. I’d held onto that memory (and the ensuing adventure) ever since, calling on it when the world and all its decisions seemed a little too much.

As November rolled around, I connected with it once again. I could manage a week off work, and maybe even bring some of it with me. I’d get family time during the holidays, enough that they’d forgive me until next year at least. And cost? Well, everything in moderation, right? That includes credit card balances.

I hit enter. Seattle to Sapporo. A mix of adrenaline and relief swept over me as I texted my friends: “Bought the ticket.” We’d figure out the rest later. We always do.

The Ski Journal - Volume 16, Issue 1

BUY THE DAMN TICKET

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