The Orange Jacket — on kindness and second chance stories

It's April 8th. We are in Tromsø, on a bus on the way to the airport. I'm sitting in the first rows looking out the window when someone taps my shoulder: it's Lene. She is holding something orange and offering it to me.

Let me go back in time a bit. In 2024, Lene and I, along with 18 other people, were chosen to do Fjällräven Polar, a dogsledding expedition of 300km in the arctic. The clothing brand gives a bunch of clothing and equipment to the selected participants before getting there so you have to send your measurements. Because of my inexperience telling size for this kind of adventure and their fear of providing too-small clothes, I was given size M of everything, instead of S or even XS. So even with all six layers of clothes I was wearing, I looked like I was swimming in my orange shell jacket.

First night at camp, 2024, photo by Lene

Right before boarding the plane Lene noticed that and offered me her own, size S. Turns out she had a spare one, very similar to the ones we were wearing with our name tags. As I learned later on, she had been chosen to do Fjällräven Polar in 2019, but covid hit and the trip was unfortunately cancelled. Still, the brand sent some equipment to the selected participants as a present. Five years later, she got chosen again. That’s why Lene had two jackets size S, and she was offering me one of them for the expedition. But I couldn’t accept it, I had just met her and didn’t feel deserving of such an offer. My only worry was not freezing to death in -30 degrees. Even if I didn’t look great in a size M, I was comfortable enough to go on the expedition wearing it. 

And so we boarded the plane. It was an unbelievable week-long adventure that left a mark on everyone who took part in it. I vividly remember that on the very first night, Lene’s shoulder was very supportive during my PMS outburst. Even though we were in different teams, we always found a way to have a little chat. As days went by, even when I was feeling dehydrated, or when I didn’t feel like I had enough energy to do all that it takes to camp in the arctic, I knew I could look her way and find a friendly face. By the end of the trip, I crossed the finish line with a few more friends in this world, one could even say a Polar family.

Fjällräven Polar, 2024

So back to the bus, as everyone was about to say goodbye, Lene approached me to give me her jacket, the one that was given to her for the expedition that never happened because of covid. Wow, I couldn’t believe it. After asking at least 15 times if she was sure, I put it in my backpack. And soon, I took it to my next great adventure.

The first multi-day trek I took was in Germany, and it rained so much that this jacket was a lifesaver. In fact, after that trek we visited Lene and Mario, her partner, at their farm house. When talking with Lene about it, I remember I kept referring to the jacket as your jacket. For some reason, I still felt it was borrowed. Why did I feel so undeserving? It took a while for me to fully open my heart and accept this unconditional generosity from a new friend. It made me realize how bad I was at receiving — and how much I needed to learn. Accepting this gift was a massive internal movement for me.

Lene and I in Lindau, 2024

As I started taking the jacket to more and more hikes here at home, it made me think of the life it had before me. What stories did it carry? What rain, what landscapes, what moments had it witnessed?

When I finally asked Lene about the jacket's life before me, she told me something unexpected: it hadn't seen many adventures yet. Turns out she had a lighter prototype she took to longer adventures, while this one, because it’s a bit more robust, often stayed behind.

Lene told me she sometimes thinks about clothes when she goes thrift shopping — the ones nobody picks, sitting there with their own quiet soul, hoping someone will come along and finally give them a story. I think this jacket was doing just that.

Some of my fondest memories happened while I was wearing it: hiking through the Bavarian Forest and the Lake District in the UK, climbing Pedraforca back home in Catalunya, trekking through Mont-rebei, regular hikes in Montjuïc with Tupac, plus countless weekend getaways.

And since then, my oversized jacket — the one with my name tag — has also found its purpose. It's now worn by my partner, my brother, or any friend who needs shelter from the rain. No jacket left behind.

This story has been in the back of my mind for quite some time. I’m so happy I finally sat down to write it. I might forget a birthday or calling my mom after a busy day (sorry mom), but I can never forget this act of kindness. Thank you Lene, I’m honored by this gift. And thank you Fjällräven for giving us a great story and a friendship for life. Still more adventures to come!

If you see an orange blur in the mountains on a rainy day, reach out and say hi! I’d love to chat.

Flor