A Reminder to Embrace Your Doofy. It's okay to be a beginner.
As we sit on the “beach” at Boca while the sun sets and the kiddo paddles around on a SUP over mirror‑like water, we can’t help reflecting on how different her outdoor experience is from ours. She’s growing up surrounded by trails, rocks, lakes, bikes, skis, days at the shop, all of it. She’s been outside since toddlerhood, not because we’re trying to raise some elite outdoors athlete, but because it’s fun. Because it’s part of our lifestyle now. Because Reno makes it easy with so many recreational opportunities. Because we have access to affordable gear.
But it’s very different from both mine and Rusty’s pretty suburban, East Coast childhoods. I was a playground/digging‑holes‑to‑China‑in‑the‑backyard/spying‑on‑the‑neighbors kind of kid (still am, spying‑on‑the‑neighbors‑wise). Rusty was a travel soccer star (still is… just pick‑up games now).
We love that she’s comfortable outside. We love that she scrambles up rocks without hesitation, that she knows how to operate in the outdoors. But we’re also really aware of the privilege baked into that. She’s getting access to things (outside of the annual camping trip) that we didn’t even know existed until we were in college.
We didn’t grow up doing any of this.
Our early outdoor days were hilariously scrappy, finding and exploring the “woods” thanks to University at Buffalo’s Outdoor Adventure Club. Thanks to club donations, we rocked external‑frame (Marlboro‑branded?) packs that probably came from a garage sale in 1987.
We cooked on alcohol stoves made from soda cans, straight out of the original YouTube DIY era. After graduating and continuing to play outside, we practiced climbing systems on whatever urban structure seemed sturdy enough before someone called the cops. We wore ski helmets as climbing helmets. We camped in a Walmart tent that lasted nine years and somehow became part of our origin story, it’s even in some OG photos on this very website and our earliest Instagram posts.
We didn’t have the “right” gear. We didn’t know the “right” way. We were just figuring it out, one doofy decision at a time — and honestly, those are some of the most memorable adventures we’ve had (a solid bit of Type 2 fun).
After spending 15 years “figuring it out,” and now raising a kid in a city where so many also grow up “in the outdoors,” we’re constantly reminded of how much privilege exists in outdoor access. From team kids at the climbing gym to the rippers on the ski mountain who were introduced to skis before they could jump, to running into the adult versions of kids raised that way (the ones who huck it off cliffs and can't wait for the chutes to open), it’s easy to feel a pressure to perform and an elitism in outdoor culture even as an adult.
And we’re trying to be intentional about recognizing her privilege to grow up this way, and keeping elitism out of our family’s outdoor life (which is pretty easy, considering we’re literally the most frugal people). The truth is: our kiddo doesn’t need an $800 bike she’s going to outgrow in five months. She doesn’t need top‑tier technical footwear to skip along a trail. She doesn’t need to look like a catalog model to belong outside.
We go outside for fun, not performance. We wear jelly sandals and tutus on the trail. We use used gear. We make do. We keep it light and joyful, not for any big summit goals, but for time outdoors, fresh air, moving our bodies in a fun way, and respecting the planet.
Because we don’t want her growing up thinking there’s one “correct” way to be outdoorsy. We don’t want her absorbing the elitism that creeps into outdoor culture — the idea that you need the newest, lightest, fanciest gear to be legitimate. We want her to know the outdoors is for everyone, and that the people doing it “right” aren’t the ones with the perfect setup. They’re the ones having the most fun.
And ultimately, that’s at the heart of Gear Hut, too... which makes sense, since the shop was our original baby. We meet people where they are. We celebrate beginners and trying something new at any age. Because that was us. (That still is us... me rocking a bruised ego and body while learning to snowboard at 35 wearing bike chamois as extra butt padding and roller blading wrist guards). Everyone starts somewhere.
We welcome the doofy, the scrappy, the DIY‑ers, the folks who show up with stoke. We remind people that a foam pad works. A hardtail works. A budget tent works. Your gear can grow as you grow. Because there isn’t one right way to get outside. Some are fancy. Some are elite. Some are held together with duct tape and whole lot of optimism. All of them count.
So, in conclusion to this round-about brain dump of mental wanderings from my peaceful mind as we sit under the twinkling stars... feeling lucky to be here in this beautiful location and watching our kiddo try something new. And I'm not quite sure where I was going with it all, but mostly to remember where you came from? To never underestimate or judge folks new to the outdoors. To acknowledge privilege, to reduce elitism.
To embrace your doofy. Make do. Get outside. Have fun. That’s the real “right way.”
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