Brave or Stupid?
On greater fools and smaller pains.
Below is a video recorded by the lift staff whose station sits below a rescue we did in the “Schindler” chutes in St. Anton am Arlberg. It’s from far away, but you sort of get the idea what’s going on. The bundle of people to the left is a ski instructor’s off-piste group containing the patient, and I’m one of the little dots wrestling down the helicopter winch paramedic. Before this, I told the group to dig a little ledge to keep the patient level, while I performed the limited medical aid we can do out in the field. Paramedic came in, drugged her into the happy zone, we got her into the vacuum board, hooked back onto the winch, lifted her out - job done. Pretty standard stuff, nothing to write home about.
The group gathered themselves, the instructor was an experienced lead and they safely skied down through the chutes. I waited until they were all out of the chutes and back onto piste, in case someone else got hurt I would be above them. Sometimes people underestimate the adrenaline drop after incidents like this, so they are weaker than they believe to be. Back to back incidents are quite common.
The fallout of “the greater fool”:
I followed carrying the patients skis on one shoulder, and because I was super hot, I remember taking my gloves off and skiing down bare-handed, plus, I’m pretty sure I was also distracted by my phone or radio or both. All things that seemed normal to me, because at this point I had done so many rescues in the chutes, it felt like a normal run to me. But routine kills in the mountains.
That’s not brave or cool. That’s just stupid.
You see the station above the Chutes? Ever since they built the new gondola there, the chutes are very easily accessible and are skied by people who are not ready for them. They get tracked out very quickly, plus, a lot of it is in the shade all day, it ices over quickly, which basically turns the whole thing into a narrow, frozen, steep, mogul-ish hellscape for under-skilled skiers.
Back in the day, some greater fool, some brave soul who charged ahead and showed her peers the chutes are skiable, and fun to do so, lowered the entry bar. The threshold of inhibition got lowered for her followers, and follow they did. The chutes became a status symbol, the new gondola was built including a middle station, skiers were hauled in, and let’s not forget, a lot of money was made.
I admire the idea of the greater fool. I fancy myself to be one of them. Seeking out uncommon paths, questioning the status quo, not taking anything for granted and trying things out, just because I can.
The greater fool is prone to injury - of body, soul and ego - failure and ridicule. The greater fool is the one who kept betting on something when everyone else conceded it wasn’t worth it.
It was my birthday last week, I just turned 42, so naturally I am wondering if greater fool-ing my life has been worth it.
I have been called:
Stupid, weird, unhinged, selfish, reckless, lazy, too ambitious, lost, … just for living my life. For:
- wanting to work in ski patrol and explosives as a woman;
- loving the smell of adrenaline and skidoo fuel in the morning;
- wanting to work in the film industry when I grew up in a world of sensible careers;
- wanting to be a storyteller for a living;
- not building kids into my life plan by default;
- believing I can parent the world and have a legacy in other ways;
- choosing adventure over a secure financial future;
- brazenly being a committed cat lady.
Rarely did I shrug it off, mostly it hurt deeply. Especially when it came from my own family, friends or colleagues I admired. (Side note: my cat never hurt me, so fuck you.)
Often I think I’m just delusional. Where does bravery end and stupidity start?
When my bank account and body suffer from depletion, I do wonder if maybe the other fools are right? I wonder if the price I pay for being the greater one is worth it. I wonder about my fallout.
The consequential injuries I cause through my choices.
I cannot know them, as everyone chooses for themselves if they want to ski the chutes of their lives or what they do with my example, if they even see me, as I do not overestimate my influence.
But I do know this: As a greater fool in this greatest adventure of all that is life, I am ever unsure and I am often uncomfortable.
So just like I have to anticipate pain when I sneeze too hard, now that I’m in my forties, I have become comfortable being uncomfortable.
The comments about my choices still hurt, but the pain is almost satisfying now. It is the solidification of never being “broken in”. Because somehow, in the perverse logic of human pleasure, being uncomfortable keeps things exciting.
For what good is it to be a fool, if you’re not poking the bear?
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