Angel鈥檚 dad, Jim, says that skiing chose her, not the other way around.

鈥淚 definitely didn鈥檛 consciously choose it,鈥� Angel says, 鈥渂ut it was so clear that skiing was my path. Where you鈥檙e like, This is my jam. I know I鈥檓 good at this.鈥� And when you鈥檙e that good, what else would you do?

Collinson grew up in employee housing at Utah鈥檚 Snowbird resort, where Jim worked as a patroller. Angel and her younger brother, John,聽shared a bunk bed that was jammed inside a closet. Homeschooled by their mother, Deb, the kids skied most days and took to the sport easily. Money was tight, but the spirit of adventure鈥攁nd comfort on big mountains鈥攚as abundant. For ten summers, the family lived out of their 1979 Ford Econoline. One year they climbed a proud lineup of 14,000-foot peaks: Mount Whitney, Mount Shasta, and Mount Rainier. Angel was six.

Angel dedicated her entire childhood to ski racing. 鈥淪he was so gifted on skis, and that coupled with her perfectionism made her great,鈥� says John. Her internal drive translated into every area of life. John remembers when their mom assigned a homeschool art project. He banged out an oil painting in an hour and moved on. Not Angel. 鈥淪he spent months adding tiny details and perfecting hers just so. Once she started something, she鈥檇 have to work it to the finest detail,鈥� he says.

But she didn鈥檛 try soccer or learn to play the saxophone, and she wasn鈥檛 seeking out red Solo cups at weekend parties. Skiing was it. 鈥淚t was very one-dimensional,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 feel like I sacrificed a lot for the first 18 years of my life.鈥� John had a similar experience when he was younger, sometimes wishing he could do team sports like the other kids.

After getting passed over for the U.S. ski-racing team in 2009, Angel switched gears, enrolling at the University of Utah on a full-ride academic scholarship. With skiing on the back burner, she could pursue聽a career as a lawyer focused on environmental policy. But during her freshman year, John convinced her to join the Freeskiing World Tour, the preeminent big-mountain ski competition, which showcases athletes鈥� ability to choose creative, aggressive lines down technical faces. 鈥淪he was the best skier I knew and was still paying for skis and paying her own way to training camps,鈥� he says. Meanwhile, companies had started to offer him gear, skis, and paying contracts.

In 2010, Angel won the title. The next year, she was competing on the tour alongside her boyfriend, 25-year-old Ryan Hawks. They鈥檇 only been dating for a few months but had an immediate, powerful connection. She watched as he threw a huge backflip off a 40-foot cliff in Kirkwood, California, and landed hard. He didn鈥檛 get up. Angel skied her line, went straight to the hospital to see him, and held his hand as he died.

She鈥檚 carried the lessons she learned from Hawks with her. He鈥檇 say that we only have control over two things in life: attitude and effort. In his death, she started to be more open to what she calls the mystery of life, and began thinking more about how she wanted to live hers. That year she won the title again. Then she dropped out of college. Skiing had sucked her back in.

鈥淭here was a magic period when I was getting into it that I was just surprising myself and surprising other people. I saw my potential,鈥� she says, her hazel eyes sparkling. Collinson was always trying to improve and perform at her own high standards. 鈥淭here was a honeymoon phase with big-mountain skiing where I didn鈥檛 have any expectations of myself and I just wanted to keep skiing better than I did the day before, the year before.鈥�

In 2014, she scored the opening segment in the ski film Almost Ablaze. It was the first time in Teton Gravity Research (TGR) history that the production company opened a movie with a female skier. She was skiing the best she ever had, and her career really started to take off. Her goals were to ski in Alaska and be featured in ski films, and she was finally doing it. By any measure, she鈥檇 found huge, sweeping success.

鈥淪he was at the absolute top,鈥� says John. 鈥淵ou couldn鈥檛 really ask for more out of a career in skiing than that.鈥� But in 2015, she started to get a nagging feeling that she couldn鈥檛 shake.

鈥淚 started to realize that I wasn鈥檛 fulfilled by skiing,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 was like, OK, but what else is there in life, and how do I get there?鈥�

The crash in 2019 wasn鈥檛 her first big fall. She fell a thousand feet down another line in Alaska a few years before. The footage was so terrifying that Good Morning America had her on to talk about it.

鈥淎ngel, are you fearless?鈥� they asked, in the oblivious way of morning hosts.

鈥淣o, I definitely always have a bit of fear before I do stuff,鈥� she says, clad in a North Face T-shirt and wearing a silver nose ring. 鈥淚 feel like professional skiing is knowing the difference between the fear in your gut when you shouldn鈥檛 do something or just a little bit of nervous fear that we always have.鈥�

After her 2019 injury, Collinson welcomed the break from skiing. Rehabbing her knee offered a window to explore other interests without pressure. Instead of doing her physical-therapy exercises, she spent the summer dancing vigorously. Her quads: fire. Her glutes: fully activated. She was getting back to normal, but in her own way.

It was in that state of mind that she met Pete Willauer in Jackson, Wyoming, later that year. He was working at TGR, and she was in the office checking out her footage from the season. The pair quickly discovered that they were not only strikingly compatible but shared a dream of sailing around the world. On their third date, while Willauer was teaching her to sail on Jackson Lake, they decided they鈥檇 do it. A few weeks later, while in Maine, Willauer sent a note to the owners of a boat that wasn鈥檛 for sale. Soon after, they proudly called the Sea Bear, a 40-foot steel sailboat, their own.

Collinson felt reinvigorated. Maybe she could create a life where she explored her newfound passion for sailing while also continuing to ski. She started thinking of ways to pitch this next phase of her career to her sponsors.

That idea didn鈥檛 last long. On a winter day in early 2021, Collinson was getting ready to film at Alta, Utah, with her brother and Willauer. It was supposed to be a fun, easy few hours ripping turns with her favorite people. The problem was that she couldn鈥檛 get out of bed. When she eventually did, she just stood at the front door, crying. She felt lame for breaking down, then she felt guilty about feeling lame. What鈥檚 my problem? she thought. But she already knew. Something was finally saying: no more.

When the group finally made it out the door, conditions weren鈥檛 good, but they still needed to get a few shots. On the lift up, John suggested they just go ski fast down some groomers. Angel started crying. 鈥淚t took me a while to grasp what was happening,鈥� says John. 鈥淭here were a few days where it really started to hit me that it was over for her.鈥�

She was tired of pretending, tired of forcing it. 鈥淚 was so burnt out and so over it, my soul was screaming,鈥� she says. 鈥淭here was a clear moment when I was just like, I鈥檓 so done skiing. I can鈥檛 even fake my way through. I cannot do this anymore.鈥�

She鈥檇 felt like a fraud for most of her skiing career. 鈥淚t was like I was carrying this dirty secret: I don鈥檛 love skiing that much, and I鈥檓 kind of over it,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 thought that made me unappreciative or ungrateful. I wasn鈥檛, but I never wanted to talk about it because it was everyone else鈥檚 dream.鈥� It just wasn鈥檛 her dream.

For years Collinson had experienced some version of this feeling, but she just didn鈥檛 know how to be done skiing. Other than a brief stint as a raft guide, the only job she鈥檇 ever had was skiing. How would she make money? How would she spend her time? She made a list of all the possible worst-case scenarios: everyone will think she鈥檚 lost her mind, she鈥檒l go bankrupt, become irrelevant, lose all her followers on her social media.

The exercise was cathartic. 鈥淲ell, hell, even if all that happens, I鈥檒l still probably be fine,鈥� she figured. 鈥淚 got to a place where I was willing to lose everything in order to go for it.鈥�

In October 2021, Collinson sat below deck on the Sea Bear and recorded a video for her Instagram account. She was docked in the Canary Islands with Willauer after they鈥檇 completed their first crossing of the Atlantic. Her hair was newly cropped and buzzed on one side. Her head looked unfamiliar without the usual beanie or ski helmet plastered with loud sponsor logos. A warm smile lit up her face.

鈥淪ometimes things break us. Sometimes we break open. Sometimes we break down. Sometimes we break free,鈥� she began, the words flowing easily. 鈥淚 feel stuck. How do I get free? I don鈥檛 trust myself, I鈥檓 scared. Do you see yourself in me?鈥�

Collinson posed a question to the viewer: 鈥淚s there a skin that you鈥檙e aching to shed, and are you afraid to let go of something? Is there something that you鈥檙e longing to move toward but don鈥檛 know where to start? And if so, I really get it. And I鈥檓 in your corner, for whenever you鈥檙e ready to take the leap. You鈥檒l know.鈥�

For weeks she鈥檇 been agonizing over making this announcement. She didn鈥檛 know how to put what she was feeling into words, and it was eating her alive. Finally, she rode a scooter to a caf茅 and wrote an essay she titled 鈥淚nquest of What Excites You; Announcements and Confessions from the Other Side.鈥� In the video, she鈥檚 reading the piece aloud.

鈥淚鈥檝e flown down the most beautiful of earth鈥檚 snowy faces, and I also know sometimes the things that free us can also cage us. Sometimes we outgrow our boxes,鈥� she continued, her eyes starting to fill with tears. 鈥淪o now, back to breaking open. It鈥檚 time to say: Skiing, it鈥檚 been real. It鈥檚 been a hell of a ride. And new and more expansive horizons await the other side.鈥�

Collinson was wary of what might happen when she turned her whole life upside down, but she knew the greatest challenge was going to be financial. While her ski contracts didn鈥檛 make her rich, she could live comfortably and save, which allowed her and Willauer to split the $70,000 cost of Sea Bear. When I asked her if anyone thought she was living off a trust fund, she grabbed her computer and pulled up her tax returns. It used to really bother her, but not anymore. She has no qualms talking about money.

In 2019, her gross income was $109,000, but after deducting her expenses, her income was $20,000. Tax whizzes may read that as a woman who is savvy with write-offs, but her payments from sponsors included expenses鈥攕o when she traveled to things like film premieres and film shoots, she swiped her own card. Filming in Alaska, for example, runs about $8,000 per week for lodging, food, and heli drops. A three-week trip to film could easily cost $25,000. In 2018, her best year, she made $85,000 after expenses and paid $20,000 in taxes.

When she quit, all of Collinson鈥檚 sponsors dropped her, except for one: Smartwool. 鈥淚 was like, OK, so what?鈥� says Alex Pashley, the brand鈥檚 athlete manager. Pashley had come to admire how Collinson told her own story and how she spoke up about mental health. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 need you skiing down Alaskan peaks anymore. If you want to hop in a boat and scare yourself out on the open ocean, that sounds great, too,鈥� he told her.

Collinson鈥檚 new career path? A certified Ayurvedic health coach. The practice helped her find relief from a strange, prolonged bout of extreme fatigue and depression in 2017, when Western medicine failed to offer a solution. 鈥淚 love being able to help people feel better and find fulfillment, because I know what it鈥檚 like to feel sick and to feel stuck,鈥� she says. 鈥淗ow do we actually change our lifestyle habits to architect the life we want?鈥� Collinson spent about six months working with clients until she moved onto Sea Bear full time and plans to restart the business whenever life takes her back to terra firma with good Wi-Fi.

So far, none of Collinson鈥檚 worst-case scenarios have come true. After she posted the video, she didn鈥檛 want to look at her phone. Her followers, she thought, would surely be leaving en masse. But when she did look, she was stunned. Heartwarming, supportive messages were flooding in. Her family鈥攔ooted as they are in the ski world鈥攈as rallied behind her, too. 鈥淎t first, I didn鈥檛 get it. How could you not like this? You鈥檙e so good at it!鈥� recalls John. He thinks that a lot of people might feel like he once did. 鈥淚 imagine she was probably straying farther from her own truth and the whole time trying to put the mask on, like, 鈥楾his is so fun! I love it!鈥� That would be really tough. I can鈥檛 imagine it, honestly, because I don鈥檛 think I could do it. I didn鈥檛 realize she was ready to take on a whole new journey and move into the unknown. I鈥檓 really proud of her.鈥�

Post was also surprised and impressed by Collinson鈥檚 decision. 鈥淲atching her walk away so easily, and at the height of her career, was inspiring to see,鈥� he says. He understands that skiing can often require a singular focus. 鈥淭o see Angel recognize that she has other talents and this isn鈥檛 the only thing for her is a cool lesson for anybody, and not just in the ski world but any career path.鈥� But if Collinson were to call Post up one day and say she wants to get back into skiing, he鈥檇 be stoked. 鈥淗ell yeah,鈥� he鈥檇 say. 鈥淲e miss you.鈥�

Last December, Collinson and Willauer sailed toward the idyllic Caribbean island of Grenada. She was right where she was meant to be鈥攁t least that鈥檚 what she kept telling herself. Sailing hadn鈥檛 been the easiest dream to carry out. It was less tropical waters, cold beers, and calm days lounging in the sun, and more hard labor and problem-solving. On the boat, everything was new, and there was always a problem to solve: navigation, weather, logistics. It sometimes took all day to find an adequate anchorage. Good sleep was hard to come by. There was no such thing as a good poop.

The pair wasn鈥檛 in Grenada to sunbathe, though. Instead, they pulled Sea Bear out of the water so they could spend a few weeks removing rust from its hull and trying to fix its wiggling mast. The air was hot and sticky. Morale was low. When they finally got the boat back out on the water the following month they expected to feel flooded with relief, and maybe even joy, but neither came.

Willauer, lying on a bench a few feet too small for his six-foot-two frame, said to Collinson, 鈥淚 feel like we could be thriving much more than we are.鈥� He was right. All their money was in the boat, there was no money coming in. Collinson鈥檚 brain went on a tear: Am I in over my head? Did I make the wrong move? Can we fix this?

鈥淚 had like ten million moments of self-doubt,鈥� she says. 鈥淟ike, Oh, god. What am I doing? What鈥檚 next?鈥� But she didn鈥檛 quit skiing because she was scared. She鈥檇 spent her life building an intimate relationship with fear. And she鈥檚 still drawn to the edges of life鈥檚 experiences, to her limits, even if that exploration doesn鈥檛 happen in the alpine anymore. Yet in leaving skiing, she was looking for a different kind of fear, one that helped her grow rather than wore her down. At the top of a ski line, you know exactly what you鈥檙e afraid of. 鈥淭he fear of the unknown,鈥� she says, 鈥渋s a lot more challenging to navigate.鈥�

As clich茅 as it might sound, Collinson admits that her first experience at Burning Man, in 2015, woke her up. 鈥淚鈥檝e always felt like an outsider for being weird,鈥� she says. 鈥淚鈥檝e spent my life around the outdoor crowd trying to hide my weirdness.鈥� She felt disconnected hanging out with diehard pro skiers who only talked about skiing and would drink beers to pass the time. But when she started connecting with artists, musicians, and creatives? 鈥淚 was like, these are my people. I鈥檇 be up talking until 3 A.M., just so engaged with the way they viewed life and how they lived in such a different way than me,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t was almost like the more that I got involved with other parts of humanity and culture that I hadn鈥檛 associated with before, the more disinterested I got in skiing.鈥�

At Burning Man this past August, she had another awakening. People were complaining about the heat and dust in Nevada鈥檚 Black Rock Desert, but all she could think of was how life felt way easier there than it did on Sea Bear.

Could it be time to dream up a new way of life that feels a little more sustainable? Out there in the desert, she offered up a prayer to the universe: I have no idea what to do; will you help?

A few days later, she woke up to the thought that she and Willauer should rent a place in Boulder, Colorado, where she has a strong community. She鈥檚 open to what it might look like to reenvision their sailing dream to include a little more time on land. Maybe they鈥檒l find a place in Latin America on the water so they can take Sea Bear out on the weekends? Or maybe just somewhere that she can find a routine and have space to restart her coaching business. At the very least, somewhere she can find good sleep and have regular poops.

She still plans to continue sailing around the world with Willauer, through the Panama Canal and to the South Pacific, but the timeline will likely shift. And that鈥檚 Ok. Whatever the answer is, she finally trusts herself to recognize the right thing when she sees it.