Miles from Home

China Commentary– Youthful Musings on the Environment, Culture & Development

Finding Meaning

leave a comment »

I share a common journey with all of those in the world with enough means to not have to worry about life’s basic needs, namely the search for meaning.  Along my journey, I have found meaning to be elusive and dynamic.  Interesting the difficulty in finding it is exaserbated by the fact the fact that the places to find it are constantly changing, not to mention that what you are looking for is constantly changing form.  However, I have had a few experiences in my life where, for just an instant, I recognized my momentary purpose in this world.  I had one of those experiences a couple weeks ago while skiing with a close friend in Utah and thought it special enough to share with the audience of this blog. 

The alarm rang with a staticky rendition of that song that talks about moving out of the blue and into the black.  I blinked my tired eyes and glanced at the clock.  The red leds spelled out 5:16.  “What the fuck am I doing” was the first conscious thought registered by my mind.  It was Saturday morning, I was just coming off a 70 hour week of work, my bed was warm, my dug was cuddled around my feet, my girlfriend was naked, and I was getting up to get to Utah by first tram.  “Oh well,” I thought; the tickets are booked, no backing out now.  I pulled myself out of bed, kissed my sleeping lover and my sleeping dog and grabbed my ski stuff.  When I opened the door to the outside world, the blast of air was cold enough to make my teeth hurt.  I groaned, “what am I doing again?” I asked myself.  The drive to DIA was uneventful, but the airport itself was as it always is these days, like a clothing market in downtown Cairo.  I entered the airport thinking it was early enough to not stand in-line.  After all, it was only six am.  Stupid!  The Frontier maze was overflowing.  I thought about my warm bed and naked girlfriend as I took my spot at the back of the line.   But, things were looking up after I checked in.  My 178cm, wood core, heavy as shit skis were off my shoulders, and my boots were no longer weighing on my upper back.  I walked down the escalator and remembered that a full maze at the check-in counter translates to an even fuller maze at the security check.  After another 1/2 hour of slogging through the line like a cow toward slaughter, I was finally there.  “Excuse me sir,”  said the woman who barely spoke English holding my ticket and drivers license, “I’m going to need you to go to that line on the end.”  “Oh Shit,” I thought, not the extra secure security line.  Oh well, I should have known that terrorits have been wearing down filled, rip resistant patagonia coats lately.  I stood next to my bin.  I took off my jacket, my watch, emptied my pockets, tooks off my shoes, and my belt, and proceeded to walk the gauntlet.  Usually I am a beakon of personal privacy rights, but this airport stuff has gotten so out of control that I’m ready to give up.  Next time just tell me to get naked and put my stuff in a bin.  The TSA lady can even slap me on the ass as I walk by.  I have resigned myself to the fact that I must act like a prisoner as I move through the airport, lest I actually be put in prison.  Anyway, I come out the other side of the assembly line of machines, I redress, and I’m on my way.  I hit the A320 seat, my head falls against the window, and my world goes black.  The next thing I know wheels are screeching against tarmac in Salt Lake.  I pick myself up and deplane.  My friend’s waiting for me at baggage claim with a grin on his face.  We’re real friends.  I know because when we hug each other it doesn’t start with a handshake, and it doesn’t have the normal homophobic feel that occurs when you touch someone’s back with your forearm but make sure not to have anything below your shoulders make contact.  “Shit man, you always time it perfect, the snow’s been falling all week.”  I respond with a casual, “I know, that’s how I roll.”  We grab my stuff, get in the car and head straight up Little Cottonwood Canyon to Alta.  I’m feeling better about my decision to come.  I’ve replaced the memory of my bed and my girl with the thought of 50 degree slopes and fresh snow.  We get to the parking lot, the wind’s blowing 20-30, gusts are much higher.  As we sit on the first lift, the gusts are strong enough to make you worried that your skis will be forced down to the point that you fall off the lift.  I start thinking about home again.  We unload at the top of the lift, and do the equivalent of running on skis, then we pop them off and hike for 10 minutes with breaks every couple hundred yards so the gusts don’t blow us off the precarious apex that we are ascending.  At the top, we put our skis on and race across an exposed traverse.  At several points, I hear the petex being scraped off the bottom of my skis by the rocks underfoot.  Although, it had snowed a couple feet in the days leading up to my trip, the wind had been blowing hard enough to keep the exposed upper faces of the mountain uncovered.  Finally the frenzy of movement stopped.  I buckled my boots and glanced down a 100 vertical foot chute.  The top was barely wide enough to squeeze my shoulders between, the middle opened up to ~5 feet, there was a couple foot drop near the bottom, and the slope was >50 degrees.  At the bottom it opened up into 3 wonderful turns of untouched knew deep snow before flattening out.   I turned to my buddy.  “We don’t have steeps like this in Colorado.”  He laughed and said, “welp, after you.”  I pointed my skis off the edge, so the tips dangled in the air while, my tails pressed firmly on the snow.  My mind cleared.  My bed, girlfriend, dog, cold air, full mazes, security lines, airplanes, baggage claims, ski buddy, even the howling wind, all vanished from my mind.  All I thought about was the gnarly picture in front of me.  I could feel my heart beat quicken.  Under my breath I said, “one, two, three,” and threw myself downward.  That’s when it happened.  For a couple moments I felt what it is to be alive.  My mind was empty and my heart was full.  The fear of the moment leading up to the drop was replaced with bliss.  The best way to explain it is that I felt like I glimpsed the face of God.  I was going 40-50mph, yet I didn’t hear anything.  As the shoot opened up, I made 3 beautiful turns as the snow splashed into my face and over my head.  At the bottom I looked up as an irrepressable grin spread across my face,  “Whoooooooooooooo!”  I was overwhelmed by the feeling of purpose and connection that I had just been gifted.  I spent those seconds actively participating in life instead of doing what I do most of the time, trudge through my day.  I am motivated to trudge, motivated to get up early, motivated to do what I do not want to do by moments like those because during moments like that I remember my purpose.  I remember to embrace all the opportunities I can to live, before I die.

Advertisements

Written by bianj

March 9, 2007 at 10:19 pm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: