Woke up this morning in a condo overlooking the Wildlife Preserve in Wyoming. Enjoyed a delicious breakfast with my friend and her daughter, then the three of us piled in the car and hit the Wyoming 22 heading to Jackson Hole.
Teton Village was awash in the damp grey of an inversion, but mid way up the mountain we sailed into skies that were nothing but blue, slopes radiant and sparkling in sunlit white. Crowded into a cattle car (see also: tram) with a hundred other bodies clad in a rainbow assembly of outerwear, clutching skis, we’re all twitching with ye ol’ ski jones, and cheers erupted when the sun came out to play. The goods from the last storm cycle were soft and luscious, if you knew where to find them – and our Clinician did, oh boy did she ever, all day long.
I’m here for ongoing training as a Professional Ski Instructor. This has been part of that life – road trips, new faces, feedback on my skiing from fresh eyes, new places, different snow and conditions and cultures. I love it. Or at least, I love it when I actually stop and think about it.
As much as I try to foster an ‘attitude of gratitude’ – I often catch myself abiding some tired and unappreciative outlook without questioning it, owning it, or being fully conscious of it. Today on the Tram while psyching up, I deconstructed the experience. The masterpieces of engineering and technology that take us up the mountain and allow us to travel down whilst staying warm and safe and dry, the entire industry built around it, the hype and the fun. The fact that as BIG as this world has been to me, in the big picture of the world, only a teeny minority that gets to participate. I feel sort of sad about that, and unjustly privileged, and yet glad I’ve been able to share it with hundreds of students over the years.
Just some informal musing. Tucking in for the night so I can get up and get after it again tomorrow…