Being Alone vs. Not Fitting In

I love snowshoeing with just my dog. It is so peaceful being able to enjoy the woods, the snowflakes falling like glittering confetti through the trees, sun reflecting off the whitened fields, fresh icy air in the lungs with a peppy dog by your side.

I love pulling on each leg of my patched up old Carhartt pants over my long johns and wool socks, wrestling into layers of breathable clothing like polypro and wool sweaters, wrapping my 10-ft. long homemade scarf around my neck three full times and donning the huge movie star sunglasses. I walk through the woods, fully enjoying my life here and taking in the scenery.

And then, two cross country skiiers enter my path. I say hello and smile, put my exuberant dog on a leash and allow them to pass first. They mutter a greeting through tight lips and upturned noses, and I notice how all their clothes are coordinated, sleek, name brand and likely very expensive. To them, I probably look like I'm homeless and living near the compost piles on the property.

I have asked this on a number of occasions, but I still do not understand: when did it become more important to look outdoorsy than to just get out and enjoy? Why the stigma placed on people who cannot or will not buy the expensive clothing when good enough is just fine?

It was a reminder that, regardless of age, the old cliques from the school yard never really go away. The cool kids always think they're cool, and the dorks will always feel, well, dorky. We nerds often spend time alone, free from judgement of the cool kids, and I would argue that might allow us to connect on a deeper level with nature around us.

Regardless, I still enjoy New England wintertime fun, but the empty trails seem to call me more than the well-trodden ones.