Why I Gave Up Everything (Except My Trust Fund) to Ski

Trustafari tech bro, Chad Fuqface, reflects on his 1st-world problems atop a mountain. Sam Morse photo.

Life in San Francisco was tough. At 26, I’d already earned an MBA, built a successful career, given a TED talk—even bought a house. And despite having a head full of dreadlocks, I’d even found investors to fund my startup.

I had tons of friends from Stanford business school still around, and my social network was THE SHIT. I hit up every music festival, microdosed all the best drugs, went to all the headiest farmer’s markets—I had it all.

But something was missing. Every time I looked at my financial statements, the thrill of seeing my bank account fill up somehow left me feeling empty. Despite the good looks, career success and white privilege, I knew something had to change, so I went on a pilgrimage deep into the Amazon to consult an elder shaman—and get fucked up on Ayahuasca.

After vomiting all over myself in the jungle for 2 ½ hours, I had a spiritual epiphany. I simply wasn’t happy with my life as a tech hustler and rasta playboy in SF. The unpleasant truth was staring me in the face (as well as an angry, puke-covered shaman).

So, I decided to give it all up—except my $80k/month trust fund—and ski the world.

The transition wasn’t easy. I had to pay someone to book first-class plane tickets (chasing storms internationally and sleeping in a different Four Seasons every couple of days is really rough on the body).

Everywhere I went, the poverty of ski bums was alarming! I could see the hunger in their eyes, and I wanted to do my part, so I’d occasionally visit staff housing with pizza and booze. They were living in squalor, surrounded by roaches (both kinds), ramen and depleted packs of cheap, low-class beer. Sometimes, I’d leave a few 12-packs of something nicer in the middle of their living area and watch them swarm and fight each other for the free windfall. They were like animals.

It was eye opening to see that people lived that way.

My AmEx Centurion Card was wracking up some serious miles, so, out of the kindness of my heart—and to get demo pow skis—I would gift the free travel to needy ski bums I met in Aspen, Jackson Hole, Niseko and other top-tier destinations.

Standing in lift lines was also really hard. Sometimes I’d wait for tens of minutes to be whisked up thousands of feet—sweat-free—in some of the most beautiful locales in the world. It must’ve been what standing in the breadlines during the Great Depression felt like.

Syncing up my southern hemisphere skiing with Coachella, Burning Man, Glasto and all the other festies was also a huge challenge. My tech buddies would tag me on social media asking what had happened to me. But it was hard to explain how I’d changed in South America, and that I was now a different person.

So, instead of having the hard conversations over Facetime, I’d just fly and meet with them to party. Some of those conversations were really hard—so we’d just roll a spliff and call it good.

Standing in lift lines was also really hard. Sometimes I’d wait for tens of minutes to be whisked up thousands of feet—sweat-free—in some of the most beautiful locales in the world. It must’ve been what standing in the breadlines during the Great Depression felt like.

I gave up so much to travel the world and ski, but at the end of the day, it was all worth it. For everything I sacrificed, I gained priceless life experience (and my capital investments appreciated handsomely). Life is, after all, about making hard choices.

Yours in stoke (and privilege),
Chad Fuqface

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stash member Sam Morse

TGR Editor-at-Large. author of The Ski Town Fairytale and creative behind The Bumion. Lover of steep-and-deep lines, long trails—and hot springs waiting in the distance.