I am sitting on the wall outside my parents’ house in Scotland, swinging my legs underneath me, squinting into the sunshine, and directing the removal men with an almost sinister OCD-like precision. ‘That box is for the bedroom upstairs…..that one’s for the garage…. bedroom…. garage…. bedroom…. garage’, and so it goes on. I am happily engrossed in the operation and it feels good. This downsizing is, after all, the culmination of a plan. A plan that only ever had one goal – to be nearer to the mountains. Simultaneously gloriously simple and irresponsible. And suddenly it dawns on me. The overwhelming undercurrent that runs throughout this whole crazy experience that is my life – boxes.  I raise my eyebrows and have a little chuckle at the irony of it all. Yeah, boxes. At 34 my worldly possessions are sitting securely in a few boxes and it’s been my own utter refusal to be put in a box myself that has led me here.

Boxes. From the moment we are conceived, people start trying to squeeze our group of 3 cells and half a fingernail into a box that they are happy with. How many times have you heard it? ‘Both parents are creative so she’s definitely going to be an artist, he’s got a hell of a kick on him so he’s going to be a rugby player, oh you can tell by the way he’s lying in my womb, he’s going to be a serial killer for sure…..’ Ok perhaps not the last one but you know what I mean. It’s endearing, charming, heart warming, and all of that stuff. But it is also complete and utter nonsense. I’m not even remotely pregnant but when I hear this kind of inane drivel I feel more than a small wave of nausea.

As far as I can see, the problem with enforcing your ideals and perceptions onto another person is that you dictate their reality before they have had time to evolve. It comes down to that age old nature v nurture debate and quite frankly if we start on that one, I’d recommend opening another bottle of wine cos we’ll be in for a long one. I guess where I’m trying to go with this is that when we try to reduce a human being with all its individuality, power, and unique personality into a very small, square rigid thing we reduce and stifle any room for potential and growth.

The world of outdoor pursuits is littered with boxes. Skier or a snowboarder? Bouldering, trad or sport? Hill walker or a mountaineer? Small boats or big boats? Mountain or road biker? These areas all come with a recognisable uniform, distinctive language, and unique identity that leads to an enormously self empowering and motivating sense of belonging. However, there is always a danger that the power of the group can become bigger than the individual and when this happens, the box suddenly becomes extremely restrictive. Individuality can be swallowed up and cloning kicks in….

I can pinpoint the exact moment when I suddenly realised that I was embracing my essence as both a skier and person and it happened on the Crowfoot Glacier in the Canadian Rockies in March. It was the last day of the trip and brilliantly it was a bluebird day. Scorchingly hot and the conditions were sketchy to say the least – it had been well documented that this season had been extremely unpredictable in the Rockies and everyone was on high alert. We experienced ‘wumpfing’ with alarming regularity and as a result ended up digging about 3 snow pits during the course of the long, hot, nerve jangling ascent.

As is always the way, we were inevitably rewarded on the summit. The panoramic views of the Rockies, the stillness, the utter purity, and the combined feelings of teamwork and independence induced in me an overwhelming happiness. All that remained of this phenomenal trip was the descent. It was the final one and I had been looking forward to it with every slow, laboured slide of my skins on the way up. Andrew the guide went first, asked me to wait till last, told us all to make damn sure we stayed close to his tracks, and then with his signature godlike style, headed off down the glacier on his telemark skis leaving me with more than a little admiration and growing crush! Aude and Gabe went next, followed by Gabe’s friend, Martin – the least capable skier in the group. Martin had a pretty spectacular wipeout half way down so I stopped to help him find his powder buried skis and his ego – the two were inseparable. Once we had located them both and at his request, I skied on down to the group.

That final part of the run was quite easily the most amazing experience I have ever had on ski. I have never felt anything like it – it was as if my skis were an extension of my whole being. It was freedom. A floating, effortless joy that passed in a moment’s eye yet seemed eternally still. It was my private moment, an expression of myself.

It didn’t last long.

I didn’t want their approval or criticism; I didn’t even want them to be there. And then came the words. ‘There’s enough powder out there that you don’t have to ski over someone else’s tracks’ said the delightful Gabe. Good god. I had unwittingly violated some sort of sacred ski mountaineering rule. What would become of me? Surely karma would now deliver me a lifetime of simultaneously shit visibility, howling winds, and slush? It was all I was good for such was the gravity of my offence.

And all at once it struck me. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about these rules, other than the lovely Andrew’s ‘stay close to my tracks’ command. Not once had I thought about what my run would look like to the others or myself because I didn’t care about how symmetrical the marks I left on the hill were. To me, life and being outdoors should be about being yourself, expressing yourself, and more than anything, enjoying yourself. For me the doing is way more important than the outcome. No one ever achieved anything great by playing according to someone else’s rules. Gabe’s off the cuff comment driven by a desire to isolate me and limit my growth and progression ended up having the entirely opposite effect. I thank the tw*t every day.

I say try it all. Take the time to embrace everything that you are, explore all your talents, continue to question and learn, find a way to express yourself and your individuality. And do it your way.

It has never made sense to me to be one thing or do something a certain way but I have always felt the pressure. I breathe easier now.