#perpespective

One of the best reasons to travel, in my opinion, is perspective. I've traveled in many ways - alone, with partners, and with family. Sometimes it's with a plan, sometimes there is less of a initial sense of direction.

This past week I found myself on a beautiful family trip to celebrate Christmas. We gathered from all of our respective homes and countries for a pre-planned family vacation in the Italian alps.  We went skiing. Our days were simple; wake up, eat, ski, eat, have hot bath, eat, play game, drink, sleep, and repeat. It wasn't the easiest place to get internet, so we stopped checking. The town's shops were a little overpriced, so we didn't shop. The main square had a hut that sold ostrich and crabs to people who wanted to show off during apres-ski. We chose to lounge in the chalet and relax. It was paradise, and we were lucky.

I met one person who gave me some valuable perspective. Many years my junior, he reminded me, just by his attitude and tempo, that I had almost lost that carefree spirit I used to revel in. I was now aware of my shortcomings more than my success. I was closer to anxiety than exuberance. And here he was, in one of the most beautiful natural places on earth, living his dream. When I said I worked in music, he said he had a band. He laughed when he told me their name (i loved it, it was funny.) I later watched his youtube videos recorded with a friend at home. Like skiing, he had a natural ability for playing ukelele. He was funny, charming, and carefree. Carefree. A misleading word, really. He did care, in effect, he was just better adjusted to caring. He loved. He loved his life. He loved his friends. And he knew what he loved to do. So he did it.

On day three of our trip, our group was skiing in some deep powder. I'm not the best at skiing in powder, so I had some spectacular falls that day. The second fall was probably my worst, when one of the skis got stuck in a drift and I fell backwards, bashing my green-helmeted head on the snow behind. I yelled and was in shock, despite the fact that the powder was a softer landing than usual. Every bone in my neck cracked, probably to some positive effect. I lay there for a second, and then suddenly, he appeared, having popped off his skis and run up the hill. "Put your skis across the hill" he said. My only thought was that I had said this to the kids I used to teach cross country ski to on Cypress Mountain in West Vancouver many years ago. I stood up, and immediately fell into him. He caught me. "You ok?" he said. "Yep" I said, wondering if my bruised ego was showing, "thank you." He smiled. "Let's go!" and zipped off down the hill to rejoin the group. I followed. Life was simple in that moment. All you had to do, really, was to find a path, tempt fate, enjoy the heck out of the adrenaline fueled fun of it all, learn something, fall, get up, and keep going. (Plus, you learn really quickly in skiing that it's ok to fall, and it's not even a big deal, you just need to get up and keep going.)

On the last day of the year, we often take pause. Today I thought of the tangibles, what I'd learned this year: who I'd met, who I'd loved, who I'd lost, who I missed, what risks I took, and what I hoped for the future. And ultimately, I think I'll take all of it and put value in the lesson learned last week.