Moving stressful? Only as much as trading suburbia for mountains could possibly allow it to be.

Popular love story: midwest girl is exposed to skiing via “up north” trips at young age. Girl loves speed, loves snow and loves to ski. Girl stays close to home for college as parents re-iterate the importance of education over recreation. Girl agrees, earns degree … and heads west.

I have a goofy perspective on my love affair with skiing. It’s best expressed by the following random sequence of events (think stream of consciousness.)

When it comes to fascination with tech specs and ski gear, I’ve been geeky since childhood. My first “really cool” piece was identical to my Dad’s: a fall ’96 Lowe Alpine flash jacket that I proudly wore the first day that it wasn’t 65 degrees in September.

We took over Boyne Mountain in Boyne Falls, Michigan as the Lowe Alpine Demo Team (self-appointed). My mom gave me one peanut M&M on the lift every time I made it down a run (on the front of the mountain!) without falling or stopping.

My senior year of high school, I did my sales presentation in marketing class on “how to sell a ski jacket,” glorifying the powder skirt on the coat.

Later that year, I made it to a national student marketing competition in Salt Lake City based upon my performance in a roleplay (assigned at random) where I had to act as a ski shop manager looking to cut operation costs and on the spot devised a makeshift plan.

From there, life turned out much like the role play. I traded the ‘96 beater Jetta for a Suby Outback, “borrowed” my parents vintage rocket box roof top carrier, grabbed my best friend and cousin Will, and began the soul-freeing journey of taking everything I both owned and knew to a place I had not yet seen.

Yes, indeed, I took a job with Cloudveil in Jackson, Wyoming without ever have setting my own eyes on the place.

An afternoon visiting siblings in Chicago, a straight shot through Nebraska (think sitting-on-roof-legs-dangling-through-sunroof-driving-with-your-feet-across-I-80), a stay in a hotel with a medieval Christian theme including a welcome letter that mentions how Jesus Christ brought us to their place and not the Motel 8 that night, countless hours of everything from Jurassic 5 to bluegrass road tripping tunes … and 1,500 miles later we hit Moran Junction.

Then, I saw the Tetons for the first time, ever. It was a cloudy, crappy day. There was construction through the park- it was raining and the mountains were covered with a thick haze. I had never seen anything like it.

We toured around town, set up the bank account, checked out the Moose for Mandatory Air’s first and only show of the summer and so life began.

My uneasiness of being a stranger in a strange land was slight, at most. I now live in the mountains and finally feel at home.

Carolyn has since switched out her Lowe Alpine for a Cloudveil RPK and is looking forward to ripping up expansive terrain for her first Jackson Winter. … Once the snow falls, you can also look for her during lunch hours clocking laps “midwest style” on the King.