We wake up and leave you in the early hours of the morning.
You don’t see us go.
You don’t hear us ramble out the door.
We leave a kiss on your cheek, or a few dollars and a kind note on your coffee table. Maybe a small bottle of our favorite alcohol if we can afford it.
We live on couches. In cramped hotel rooms and back seats. In sleepers, tents, snow-caves, shacks. We couldn’t care less about where we stay. As long as we get to go out and explore our own little world when the sun rises.
Two pieces of wood sandwiched between plastic and fiberglass. Two pieces of aluminum. Some warm clothing. Maybe a beer. That’s all we need.
We find beauty in the small things; the way fresh groomed snow feels under our skis as we edge, slash, and glide down the mountain. The feeling of weightlessness as we careen through waist-deep powder, through trees, and over cliffs. The deep red and the fiery orange glow of the peaks as the sun rises over the mountains on a cold winter’s morning.
Our worries fade as our focus intensifies. The yelling, the fighting, and the arguments all go silent as we begin our run. All that’s left is the sound of wind rushing by our ears. The feeling of butterflies in our stomachs as we drop in. The raw, pristine beauty of the mountains that give so much and ask for so little.
What are we? Why are we here? What are we doing? What’s the point? These questions may never be answered while we are back in the real world. But when we’re on the mountain skiing; when we’re too focused on it to care about anything else; when nothing matters except getting down to the lift and back up top for another lap; those questions never even come to mind.
Go ski.
