You know, there are some people in life who you wish would just lighten up. They could be fun 100% of the time if they’d just let it go sometimes. A similar group, most likely members that make up that sweet spot of a Venn diagram, also need to do things in their own right. And by that I mean many things, but in particular, they need to do things for themselves. Not in a selfish way (selfish people suck), but in a self-assurance way. As in: stop doing or not doing things because you are afraid what people may think (emphasis on “may”).

For me, this is big. Life is too short for many things, amongst those is changing your character or behavior because you think someone may be watching; someone may be judging. Well chances are, unless you are an A-list celeb, nobody’s watching (granted those who are watching may be judging, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take). Few if any people will even notice what you are up to, and fewer (again, if any) will even remember it the next minute, hour, day or more presumptuously, week later. People are too busy living their own lives to dwell on the actions of a complete stranger. Live life, it’s more exciting than watching it pass by. And I mean be silly, embrace the child in you, and stop worrying so much about what other people think. You’re just living your life in a square box…push the boundaries.

Of course, there are certain things that are not socially acceptable outside the confines of your own home (mental list running now). And then again, there are certain things that are perfect to conceal behind closed doors. Prime example, my bedroom. Kinky? No. Dirty? Yes.

When I come to Steamboat, for some reason all standards steep to a new low. Like showering on a daily basis. I know what you may be thinking: that’s so gross. Ok, well it is gross out of context. But the context here is that I rarely go into town and when I do, I rarely see anyone I know. And if I do, hell, I don’t really care what they think anyhow. So long as I don’t smell (that is a whole different standard), then I’m fine with waking up and chillin’ at the house, unchanged from yesterday aside from a clean shirt and maybe different shorts. Justification? Perhaps not. Am I going to change this? Doubtful. I also love that I can wear a tank and shorts anywhere I go without thinking twice.

Another “dirty deed” I do behind closed doors is evidenced by the state of my bedroom. In the safe-haven of SBS I don’t feel like I actually have to hide anything. So for days on end, I’ll have to look for that pair of shorts amongst my assortment of clothes littered about my room. To give you greater detail, I thought I’d give a little tour of what my room looks like now. Granted, it is only Day 4, and the worst has yet to come.

Keep in mind, none of the following has been tampered with for the purposes of this post, and it I’m referring to a 4 square foot space in my bedroom. Sitting on my bed, in my immediate line of sight, I see my blue North Face backpack from 1998 rested along the right wall; the clip at the end is touching the top and bottom to my bikini, which are shockingly within inches of each other, right next to my violet wife-beater. Clumped next to the backpack is a neatly folded navy Indiana U hoodie; touching that is a pair of salmon beach shorts. To the left of the backpack disaster area is a chair. I think it’s a comfy chair, but to my knowledge the only purpose it serves is to provide more surface area for me to toss things. It’s also much easier to collect from a chair, rather than having to bend all the way to the ground to retrieve something. On the seat of the chair is my striped blue Patagonia messenger bag with a reflective silver strip, a bright green casual tee is draped over the back – covering a pair of denim bermuda shorts – and a cute H&M brown bag is slung over the side. On the floor in front of the chair and slightly to the left is a wadded up gray t-shirt, adjoined to the Puma pants I wore on the drive out here on Thursday, which lead to a navy t-shirt overlapping a light blue pair of Adidas soccer shorts. Two feet to the left of this string of clothing is a black Nike sports bra, laying on top of a bright blue wife-beater from 2001, which are both 6 inches from a pair of navy Barca soccer shorts.

In sum, there is a ton of shit in the right quadrant of my room. But you know what, it doesn’t really bother me. At home, it would drive me nuts. But Steamboat is a place I’ve always loved because here I can kick back, relax, and let the worries of the “real world” fall by the wayside.

I guess what I’m saying is that everybody has their way of letting go, not taking things too seriously, and diverging from social norms. Life can become a repetitive pattern, and unless you add ways to keep it real, it’s gonna get boring. Don’t let it get boring. Don’t be square.