I’ve purchased a lot of unnecessary things in the name of skateboarding, but this tripod feels extra ridiculous. It took several months of brooding over to buy, and led me down a familiar existential crisis about what percentage of my identity is wrapped up in skateboarding and why it matters or doesn’t at all.

Why do I need a tripod to hold my phone? The piss-soaked pillar in this parking garage was doing a fine job. Okay, I guess cleanliness is a pro, but why am I filming myself to begin with? To upload to a group of mostly strangers? Am I desperate enough for positive affirmations in life to sink to this? Yes. Why? 

Coming from a generation where self-deprecation was valued, and being embarrassed by seeing your skating in public was expected. The idea of willingly sharing self-filmed clips is still hard for me to grasp. Yet, here I am, armed with an alien-looking tripod, alone in a parking garage, wondering where the desire to capture and share skateboarding comes from. 

Somewhere between connection to community and pure vanity lies an undying urge to share our skateboarding with someone. 

Texting a random clip to your friend in the middle of the night sounds boastful and weird. Uploading to the internet for strangers, that’s more like it.

If I’m being honest there are specific friends from different eras, past cities, past lives, that I hope see the clips. Like a game of skate session telephone from now to then, before life got in the way. 

You’re not here, but outside witnessing my struggles the past two hours, I wish you were.