How to be Dirtbaggy Enough - Tim Mathis

A few years back I wrote a book called The Dirtbag’s Guide to Life, which is a handbook for people who want to prioritize adventure in their lives. Across the years it’s gotten a bit of a readership. That’s great, but the problem is that it messes with your mind when you set yourself up as an expert. Imposter syndrome is real, and no one wants to feel like a poser. Ever since publishing, I’ve been self-conscious that I’m not dirtbaggy enough to have written the book on the subject.

It makes me hypersensitive to certain sorts of critique. Once, at a book reading in Seattle, someone said that I look more like a typical tech nerd than a dirtbag. Now I’m self-conscious to appear publicly in anything but a beard, trucker hat, and flannel, smelling like garbage. 

And in a book review someone called me a Lemonheads “Outdoor Type.” It was a fantastically effective insult because I love that song and now every time I hear it, it feels like the band is making fun of me.

Am I dirtbaggy enough?

It’s a funny thing to be self-conscious about, right? Most people want to be perceived as less of a dirtbag. 

And anyway, worrying about whether you’re dirtbaggy enough creates an unattainable goal, because who even knows what a dirtbag is? It’s not like there’s a professional certification or an official checklist.

People in the outdoor world have a rough sense: it’s a person who’s cheap, and probably doesn’t have a job, and just wants to spend all of their time outside. Or something like that.

I do have some advantage here. I wrote a book on dirtbaggery, so I can fall back on my own definition. So, I have an opportunity to do the cringiest thing ever, and quote myself:

“Yvon Chouinard, founder of the Patagonia brand, and quite possibly the world’s most influential dirtbag, states in his autobiography, “If you want to understand the entrepreneur, study the juvenile delinquent. The delinquent is saying with his actions, ‘This sucks, I’m going to do my own thing.’”

Chouinard might not have been talking about dirtbags specifically, but he could have been, and “This sucks, I’m going to do my own thing” summarizes the spirit of dirtbag culture as purely as anything.”

That’s not a complete definition. For dirtbags - as opposed to other subcultures (and juvenile delinquents) - “doing your own thing” specifically means focusing your life on travel, adventure, and the outdoors. 

But at heart this is what being dirtbaggy is all about. “This sucks, I’m going to do my own thing.”

When I think about it that way, I feel a bit less self-conscious.

What does “dirtbag” actually mean? What sucks? And what’s “my own thing?” 

Nobody knows who coined the term “dirtbag,” but the first group to really embrace it were Yosemite climbers in the ‘60s an ‘70s. So, in the book I did my obligatory research and drew on ideas from the climbing world - as well as from ski bums and Hippie Trail backpackers and trail runners and rafting guides... 

However, my own dirtbag teeth were cut primarily on the PCT, and when you really get down to it, the stuff I talk about in the book is the sort of stuff you learn on the trail. For me, dirtbag values are trail values. I feel like you all will get it.

Money: To me, being “dirtbaggy enough” means putting money in its proper place. Money is a means to an end, to put together the life you want, and to distribute around to help other people do the same. You don’t need a lot, just enough to have the essentials of life and happiness. People tend to think that’s more than it is until they experience what it’s like to carry everything they need to survive on their back for months at a time. In that context, stuff literally weighs you down, and you come to value simplicity over possessions.

Career: Being a dirtbag also means having the right perspective on your career. Almost no one gets paid to hike, but there’s no reason that you job has to overlap with what you want your life to be about. Maybe that would be great, but who actually gets that chance? Don’t most of us just beat ourselves into the ground trying to convince ourselves that we really care about our jobs enough to devote the greatest portion of our lives to them?  

Once I heard someone ask Heather “Anish” Anderson how she managed to get time off from work in order to pursue thru-hiking goals. She laughed and said, “Oh, I just quit,” as if that were the most natural thing in the world. 

Quitting your job to go hiking for months is an assertion about what’s important in life.

Relationships: On the PCT, I also came to believe that being dirtbaggy enough means cultivating relationships with interesting people who inspire you. There’s no better way to meet cool people than to do cool things. Meeting people on trail took me to Guatemala, and all over the Western United States. It led to me writing that book - my editor was even a friend from the PCT. It is taking me on an epic section of the CDT in a few months with a hiking buddy I met almost a decade ago, on trail near the Paradise Valley Cafe in Southern California. To me that’s what being a member of the dirtbag community is about. Meeting cool people and figuring out how to help each other do cool things. 

Responsibilities: I can’t remember when this happened, but for some reason on the PCT something clicked. Part of the problem in life is that we feel like we’re responsible to do things that we aren’t. Nice cars. Nice clothes. Nice houses. Career advancement. Those feel like things you’re supposed to have as a functioning adult. But why? Why should you do any of that? Why do people view it as an expectation? Do those things make our lives better, or make the world a better place? Personally, I don’t think so. It’s really just social pressure, and it’s driving us all off of a cliff. There are some things you should do as a decent human being, but a lot of the things we think of as responsibilities actually aren’t. They’re just social norms, and they’re often dysfunctional.

Meaning: Finally, being dirtbaggy is about carving out an alternate path towards a meaningful life when the one on offer seems like a trap. This is the thing in the end. It’s the reason we get vortexed by the outdoors and all of the people there. Life feels meaningless in the rat race. Life feels meaningful on trail, with challenges and people trying to build something better. Screw picket fences, I’m sleeping in the dirt. 

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When you put all of that together, how do you know if you’re dirtbaggy enough? Being dirtbaggy isn’t about selling your plasma or bandit camping in city parks - although, sure, that might be part of it. It’s about having your priorities straight - recognizing money’s a means to an end, and your career doesn’t have to define you. It’s about cultivating relationships that create a more adventurous world, thinking critically about what your responsibilities actually are, and committing yourself to carving out a meaningful life in a culture that seems intent on grinding you down.    

By those measures, am I dirtbaggy enough? I don’t know. Is anyone? 

Tim Mathis is the author of “The Dirtbag’s Guide to Life: Eternal Truth for Hiker Trash, Ski Bums, and Vagabonds,” as well as the new book “The Camino for the Rest of Us.” Maybe he takes this stuff too seriously, but he writes, in part, because he thinks trail values are important for everyone.