Lexie and I started where a lot of good conversations start — with dogs. And like most of our conversations we quickly dove into the latest on policy, climate, and what we're noticing in the outdoor space. Questions that came up in this phone chat like what does it actually mean to be outside, and what are we really after when we go? Why can't you protect public lands without naming the cattle industry, the USDA's grip on the Forest Service, or the Canadian mining company quietly trying to drill near the headwaters of LA's water supply? We got into California's snowpack and what this wildfire season is shaping up to be, wildlife crossings, the trophy hunting origins of WWF, and what the film Trade Secret uncovered about why polar bears still aren't fully protected by law. Lexie works in policy — she's been apart of conversations with these corporations that I haven't, and she sees firsthand how slowly change actually moves, and why. What I didn't expect was how quickly we'd find the edges of an industry we both believed in, and how much we'd agree on what we found there.

After I hung up with Dennis, one thing he said stayed with me.

Dennis is 88 years old and has been racing pigeons since he was fourteen. During our conversation I asked him what he had learned after doing this for so long.

His answer was simple.

He said that over time he realized pigeons aren’t machines.

Later in the conversation he also said something else that kept echoing in my mind:“If they did good for me, I kept them until they died.”

Those two ideas sitting next to each other made me start thinking about how often our care for animals is tied to usefulness.

Working animals. Hunting. Factory farming. Zoos. Animals in entertainment. Racing pigeons.

Even something like animal shelters overflowing with dogs can trace back to the same pattern — when animals stop fitting into the role we’ve created for them, they’re often discarded.

Maybe I’m noticing it more lately because of where I’ve been and the conversations happening around me. I was recently at the Wild and Scenic Film Festival watching the documentary Trade Secret, and there were a lot of discussions around wolf conservation and reintroduction. Back in Los Angeles, there are protests outside the zoo most weekends.

Different stories. Different contexts.

But when you start paying attention, you begin to see how this inherited relationship with animals shows up everywhere.

This short reflection is me thinking through that tension — between recognizing that animals aren’t machines, and the many systems we’ve built that still treat them like they are.

Sometimes a random conversation in a parking lot reveals more than you expect.

It was a normal day. I parked at the LA Zoo and took my dogs out for a hike. The lot is huge and I had parked off in an empty section.

When I got back, there was this older guy parked right next to me. Tailgate down. Just standing there.

I put my dogs in the car when something caught my eye — a flicker of movement. At that point I see the really short wooden crates. I could see through the mesh on the side that there was something moving inside them.

He slides open the crates, and all these birds fly out. So I get out of the car and I asked him, “Are they coming back?”.

And that’s where this conversation began.

Afterthoughts from my conversation with Constance Founder of SheShredz about how we can support each other towards holding corporations accountable to do better for people and planet.

Tahoe barely opened before Christmas. Resorts are scrambling for revenue. The Olympics are running on fake snow.In this conversation, Constance and I talk about what winter actually feels like right now inside ski culture. Not the marketing version. The real one.

We get into snowmaking, slushy race courses, gear wearing out faster, and whether season passes are about to get even more expensive. We talk about the growing divide between people who can chase storms and people who can’t. We ask the uncomfortable question: if your sport depends on a system that’s destabilizing, what does responsibility look like?

We also talk about consumption, vintage gear, not having kids, personal footprint versus structural power, and what She Shreds is trying to do differently from inside the culture.It's a phone chat between two people in different outdoor spaces talking about climate. And what happens when winter stops feeling guaranteed.

This episode is where patterns start to come into focus.

Not through theory, but through repetition. Moving through industry spaces, conversations, programs, and events that claimed to be climate-adjacent, but consistently redirected away from climate action and toward growth of the outdoor economy instead.

In this session, I talk about what it felt like to keep running into the same friction. The belief that the outdoor industry shouldn’t be talking about climate directly. That its role is to grow participation, grow brands, and grow the outdoor economy, while climate is treated as someone else’s responsibility.

I don’t agree with that separation.

This episode sits at the line between brands and outdoor culture. Between marketing and meaning. Between an industry built on growth and an outdoors that is being fundamentally altered by climate collapse.

I also trace how, when those conversations start to feel uncomfortable, familiar brands often get pulled in as reassurance. Not as an argument, but as a way to steady the moment and move past it.

There are no solutions offered here. Just the moment when noticing becomes unavoidable, and when the idea of the outdoors as something separate from climate no longer makes sense.

This episode is about realizing that the outdoors can’t be siloed. It has to be holistic, or it isn’t honest.

Listen in one go. In motion, if you can. This one is about seeing the whole picture instead of jumping to the comfortable parts.

This started as an Instagram story. I’m reading it out loud because it felt wrong to keep it fragmented.

It’s coming from years of noticing how much of what we buy, wear, believe, and repeat is shaped by systems we’re rarely invited to question. The clothes. The food. The stories we’re told are educational or authoritative. Even what we’re allowed to hear often shows up already approved by the same structures that benefit from it staying that way.

I talk about why I’m done waiting for permission. Why I don’t want to speak on stages funded by corporations that were never built for me in the first place. Why the outdoor industry doesn’t represent me, doesn’t speak for me, and doesn’t share my values.

I name something I keep running into, which is how inclusion almost always comes with conditions. How difference is welcomed only when it’s softened or translated or reshaped to fit a dominant framework. How assimilation gets mistaken for progress. How surviving inside someone else’s culture gets confused with belonging.

This isn’t about asking for more space within the same industry. It’s about questioning why the industry looks the way it does, who it actually makes room for, and who it keeps asking to leave parts of themselves at the door.

Nothing here is edited for comfort. I’m just reading the words as they were written and letting them stand.

Intro to outdoor cult/ure