While being born in a certain city or state might be the definition of being a native, defining what makes someone a local is not quite as easy.
As a kid growing up in the Midwest, summer vacations to Colorado were the absolute pinnacle of each year. I distinctly remember, to this day, the smell of the cherry red, shag carpeting in our family’s Ford conversion van. My mom and dad would have the van all packed up the night before, and we would set out on the road between three and four in the morning, headed west on I-70. In the summer of 1996, I had just completed my freshman year of college. That would be our final vacation with just the four of us. Little did I know when we left Kansas City that July, I would not be coming home for six more weeks. The ranch we were visiting in Westcliffe had a staff shortage that summer, and they offered me a position until school resumed. While I did wear out the Dave Matthews Band “Remember Two Things” CD and rocked Teva sandals daily, I certainly was not yet a “local".
Once I was off my parents' dime, the Colorado trips throughout my later college years and post-graduate became more infrequent. Alas, in 2024, after dipping my toe into an entry-level corporate job that I quickly realized was not for me, I once again headed west on I-70. My roommate from college had gone straight to Vail and had a loft space that was just big enough to throw a twin mattress down in. I went straight to the hiring office, and since it was mid-season, the only position they had open was a lift operator. For those of you who know ski culture, it comes as no surprise that this was a department with high turnover. They would overstaff each day, knowing that 15 to 20 percent of the workforce would be too hungover to show up for work. At the time, fresh off quitting my corporate job, I was starting to feel like I was failing in life. After being around the “lifty” culture, my self-esteem quickly elevated, and I was feeling like a model citizen.
I eventually moved up the status ladder and spent the next three years as a Yellow Jacket, which consisted of skiing the mountain all day and making sure guests weren’t too out of control in the “no speed” zones. My time in Vail was incredible, and I made some great friends who I still keep in touch with to this day, but I definitely didn’t achieve “local” status. In 2007, as I approached age thirty, the days of being perpetually broke finally ended my tenure as a ski bum. The party was finally over, and I moved back to the comforts of Kansas City.
A year later, in 2008, I met an amazing girl who changed my world. That summer, we took a trip to Colorado together and were engaged on the Poudre River in Fort Collins. Ironically, we pit-stopped in Boulder to wakeboard on the Boulder Reservoir. Little did we know that four years later, we would pack up a U-Haul in Lake Lotawana, Missouri, and make a permanent move to Boulder.
Over the last thirteen years, there have been many seminal moments for our family here in Colorado. Welcoming two of our four kids into the world here, holding the very first issue of Boulder Lifestyle in February 2013, the pain of losing our home in the Marshall Fire, and the joy of having our entire family see Phish at Folsom Field. While I may never be considered a native, Boulder is home for our family, and there is no place we would rather be.
Thank you for making room on your coffee table for Boulder Lifestyle Magazine for the last 13 years!