Snow Ghosts

Yesterday I went to Crystal Mountain to go snowboarding with coworkers. It was a beautiful couple of hours that we got to spend on the snow. The sun was shining. The terrain is steep at Crystal, much of it under the chairlift and in view of those enjoying a mellow ride to the top. I kept thinking about Duncan.

Today it has been two months since his passing. While time does help make things easier, yesterday was a hard one. Sitting on that lift in the sun I kept expecting him to pop out from between the trees with his bright green and blue outfit and that big goofy grin plastered to his face. Duncan would have loved yesterday. He would have loved to put on a show. He would have loved to have been leading the charge all day, throwing snow, and whooping it up as he weaved his way in between the trees.

View from my desk gives me a chance to say hi to fallen friends.

I haven't wanted to be in the snow this season because I feel like that part of me is now gone. All of the excitement that came with snow left on December 29th. While it's still fun, the majority of what I feel is made up of a lump in my throat and a hole in my heart from sadness, fear and just the sense that I'm missing something.

I kept turning around when I was riding, not because I thought he'd be there, but because I wanted him to be. I wanted so badly for this to be a bad dream - for the last six months to be one big bad dream that I could just wake up from and have everything be good again. Turning around I saw my friends and a big beautiful mountain, but not Duncan. Not the happy time I wanted. Not that smile or the jokes. Not the easy way. Not the relief that I know is out there somewhere.

Instead, it was just snow ghosts. Everything I want and need is out there lurking. Yesterday it was in the snow. Today it was in the clouds. Tomorrow maybe it'll be in the puddles that will inevitably be gathering at my feet as I walk through the streets. One day soon, it'll be in my hands. It has to happen. Time is going to help me again.

That feeling that something special is gone will slowly fade, but days like yesterday are reminders of just what I'm missing.

Sensations

Tonight at the conclusion of yoga, we were asked to pick a thing, person, or event that we wanted to focus on. We were asked to remember the colors, textures, smells, tastes, touches, feelings and sensations. I think we all daydream but when your only focus in the world is this kind of exercise it's powerful how real it feels. I selected the first thing that popped into my head - a happy memory.

I was there again. Everything was back just as it was. Smelling that unforgettable smell- so unique, sweet and pungent. I remember the heat- coming from all angles. Even the wind brought the heat. I held on to whatever was closest just to make sure I wouldn't fall out of reality and back into my own head. I could feel every inch of my body back in that perfect place. The colors were dark, with bits of light and reflections off of various smooth surfaces. When I was there I felt like I'd never felt before. Powerful, euphoric and so content- almost hallucinogenic. If there were a drug that put me there, I'd take it every day.  I took in deep breaths and savored every second, knowing I'd likely never return.

And yet, there I was again. Tonight, as I lay on my mat I was there. Clear as day. I felt every feeling again. Every sensation was familiar. I could smell everything. Taste everything. Feel that warm air and hear the rush of life pass through my ears. Like a perfect dream.

Meditation is powerful. It takes you anywhere in the world. Anytime and with anyone. It just reminds me to not take a single moment for granted. Focus on every wonderful moment in your life. I want to be able to go back to them as often as possible even if only in dreams.

Working on Happy

My friend MJ shared a video today that left me wondering why I bitch so much. I should be focusing on the good things and leave the bad behind. Here's the talk. Watch it. Learn it. Live it.




So,  here are three things I'm thankful for today.

I'm thankful for my kittens. There's always one on my lap keeping me warm on the cold nights. Currently it's Skynyrd. They're still tiny enough for me to be able to type while they sit on my hands.

I'm thankful for my crazy motivation to exercise. Exercise is my therapy. It's my vice. It's my addiction. Though it can get over the top sometimes I'd so much rather have this as my addiction than other things. It keeps me healthy, focused, and happy.

I'm thankful for the ability to write down my feelings. It's my other form of therapy. I suck at saying what I feel in person. On paper, or on a computer I can let it rip.  My head hurts less after writing stuff like this.

So there you go. I'm on my way to training my brain to be happier.
Time to meditate.

Surrounding Myself With Awesome

I think about many things on my bike rides to and from work. It is the only "me time" I get in my entire life and I absolutely cherish it. At the risk of sounding annoyingly emo, I need that time to deal with the daily dose of crap that life dishes up. By the time I get home my usual frustrations have melted off of me in the form of sweat. I toss them aside in the dirty clothes pile and move on with my life.

Tonight's ride got me to thinking about something I tend to rely on when I'm having a less than stellar time. I think about my friends, how happy they make me and how I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. Part of my current frustrations stem from the realization that no one is perfect, and sometimes the things you put a lot of stock in end up letting you down. It makes me sad. So, on this ride I thought about the things that I admire about my friends. I came up with this saying: I surround myself with people that I aspire to be like. I don't even think that's a grammatically correct sentence. I don't care. It gets my point across.

It's that simple. That thought comforted me for nearly an hour while I pedaled away up the hills and through the chilly seattle dusk.

Everyone I know has amazing qualities. If I could be a superhuman, my power would be to be the best of all of these things I admire in people. Of course, that's not reality, but it makes me realize what I appreciate in them.

I wish I was as patient as Scott.
I want to be an optimist like Sus.
I want to be creative like Erik.
I wish I was as brilliant as Mel.
I wish I was as funny as Adrian.
I wish I was as strong as Evan.
I wish I was thorough and driven like The Shof.
I wish I was as athletic as Lars and Jess.
I wish I was as respected as Sam.
I wish I was as willing to learn about people as MJ.
I wish I was just as stoked and happy as Aaron.
I wish I was ambitious like Oona.
I wish I was better at keeping in touch, like Lucas.
I wish I smiled and loved life as much as Duncan.
I wish I was organized like EB & Courtney.
I wish I was as supportive as Tiffany.

I wish I was a lot more characteristics of a lot of my other friends, too. Of course, no one can be all of these things. I consider myself really lucky to be able to learn from my friends. Every day I become a better person because of them. Every day I try to take what they teach me and put it to better use. It helps me be just a little less surly, a little more forgiving, a little more patient, a happier me.

It was a good way to spend the ride home. It was like I was riding with all of them.

Karma is Garbage

I want to believe in karma. I want to believe that the universe really does work that way. What if all the good things you did really did come back and gift you with great things? What a nice idea. All of the litter I've picked up and thrown in the trash comes back to me in the form of making every green light on my way to work. Wouldn't that be nice? I just don't buy it.

If you make the green lights, you just happened to have some damn good timing. If you win the lottery, either you or the machine picked some good numbers. There is no formula to the way the universe works. I do not think what goes around comes around. I do not think you're rewarded for being extra kind, beyond what is expected. If you're a good person and you do good things and you're nice to people and respectful then the chances are people will be less likely to take out their frustrations on you. This isn't karma, it's civilized society. What about the times the nice people eat a shit sandwich for lunch for seemingly no reason? Where is karma then? Where is karma when good people die young?

My belief in karma has been tested like I never thought possible over the last six months, and I've just had to come to terms with the fact that it's simply a cop out for us to rely on it. If it makes you feel better about situations, by all means, lean on it. I guess I'm just a bit too much of a realist to be comfortable saying that such and such happened because I had some good karma built up. At this point in my life I should have enough good karma banked up to never have a worry again. But I know that something is going to go wrong sometime soon, because that's life. That's how it works. You get the good, you get the bad and you become a better person by dealing with the situations in a way that benefits you and society the most.

I am no saint. I've done some things that people would frown upon, but I have no regrets. The decisions I made were with clarity and realization of potential repercussions. Everyone experiences things like this whether it was something dangerous you may have done in college or something more serious. It's what makes life worth living. It's these things that make us realize why life is exciting, scary, and unpredictable. Do we fry in eternity for them? Nah. It's all in what you learn and how you deal with it. I find that I come out of most challenging situations a better and more confident person. You know what has nothing to do with any of it? Karma. Karma is bullshit.

Karma is imaginary. Life, and how YOU choose to handle it, is real. Every decision we make shapes what we become - good and bad. There's nothing wrong with having a little bit of both as long as you had fun getting to where you are.

The Story is Alive

This coming Monday will be four months since Evan's crash. It feels like time has both flown and crawled all at once. Much has happened since then. Newman. Duncan. The holidays. A new year. Some good stuff. Some bad stuff. Some stuff I never want to live through again, but I will have to many times over.

One of the few things I'd been looking forward to since the crash was the publishing of the story I wrote about Evan and I in Peru. We were asked by Decline Magazine back in September to chronicle our experience riding in a foreign land. Evan, the always excellent rider, and me, the one nervous about exploring a new land with new people. I had a plan for the story. It was going to be about inhibitions, nerves, and ultimately I'd hoped it would be about the best 10 days of my life. As you're probably well aware, the trip went from the best week of my life, to the most intense situation I've ever experienced. I won't call it bad. I can't. It wasn't fun, but it was definitely life-changing, and I don't consider that a bad thing at all.

I was sitting in the hospital in Cusco and wondering what I should write about, or if I should write at all. My head was nothing but a mess of confusion, worry, fear, and exhaustion. I would try to type and stare blankly at my screen. Not writers block, but lacking direction. The one thing I could write about was exactly what happened, but I didn't want to exploit Evan's situation just because it might make a good story. I wasn't comfortable with that idea. I closed my laptop time and time again with a blank page hiding behind the screen.

Once we moved to Lima and Evan was more coherent we talked about anything and everything to pass the time. Out of the blue one day he asked, "You're gonna write about this right?" I remember not knowing what to say right away. I asked him if he would be comfortable with that. He said I had to use this story because it would be something that people would want to read. He wanted people to know the helmet saved his life. I nodded and considered how to tell the story in the best way possible. As was the case during our stint in the hospitals, Evan would ask me to write about it every now and then, not remembering he'd asked before. This made me feel better- like he wanted the story to be told. So, with that, I started typing.

Every day while Evan slept I sat on my laptop reliving  each moment of the trip. It was more like a diary than a story. I just needed to get everything down. I went back and reread my emails that I'd sent his family and some of my friends about what happened the day of the event. They were raw and extremely emotional. It was hard to read them without getting upset again. Even though I knew Evan would eventually be ok, it was hard to comprehend that finality when he was hooked up to IVs and didn't know what state he lived in. This made writing harder than usual. At the same time, I found the typing to be therapeutic. Even as I type this right now, I can't help but be taken back to that bed in the hospital, staring, terrified, sad and hopeful. My train of thought then (and now) was often derailed by daydreaming.

I ended up getting about half way through the story- basically Evan getting to the hospital and I was at 11,000 words. That's a shitload of words for any story, let alone one to go in a magazine focused  on mountain biking. I found myself stalling out. I didn't know where to go. I wasn't sure how it would end. I asked my friend Adrienne, who is an editor by trade to help steer me. I have to tell you, there is no way I could have written this without her. She was extremely candid and detailed about what needed to go, what should stay, and where things needed to be changed/added. With her direction I was able to shape something of a cohesive story.

After a few weeks we had a finished product. I sent it to Evan to read first. His response surprised me a bit. He told me he didn't know it was going to be about him so much. I laughed to myself and thought, 'that's what I get for listening to a guy with a brain injury.' When I asked if he was ok with it, he said yes, but to emphasize a bit more that the helmet saved his life. It was also the first time that he really got the details, from my perspective, of what happened to him on the side of the mountain. I can't imagine that it was an easy read for him. It's not an easy read for me, or anyone else who has something invested in him.

I turned the story in on October 25th. I received my copies of the magazine on January 23rd. 3 months after submission, it was in my hand. I was worried they would have edited it. I was worried it would be buried somewhere deep in the magazine. I was worried that words could never do reality justice. We opened the magazine to check it out. We were blown away.

There it was, right in the front of the magazine. An incredibly bright six page spread. The first thing you see is our riding crew posing in front of Mach Picchu. Looking at it now, it all feels so surreal. We were there. We did that. We went to Machu Picchu. It feels like a dream... almost like it never actually happened. We "ooohed" and "ahhhed" over the beautiful photos they'd chosen to use. Evan won a half page dedicated solely to the jump that he crashed on. The photo was taken by Amanda Nielsen, one of the Australian riders. It's a beautiful shot, taken simply with a point and shoot Canon camera.

As excited as I was to see it and hold it in my hand, I couldn't bring myself to read it again. Not yet at least. It took me a few days. And when I read it I found myself back in the hot dry air of Peru. Back in the orange room of the Cusco hospital. Back in the Peru Star Hotel eating guacamole and drinking Pisco Sours. Back to smelling the salty air of the Pacific Ocean. I can smell it now, sitting here just thinking about it, typing about it.

I'm sure some of my friends are sick of me talking about this story. Sorry 'bout that, but it's been an exciting week watching it come to life. If you want to read it, you can pick up the March issue of Decline magazine at major book/magazine retailers. If you still have trouble you can download the March issue for free here. If you can get a physical copy, I think it does the story more justice. Don't ask me why, it just feels good to hold it in your hand. The story is good. It evokes emotion. It puts you there. It was a labor of love, and I'm proud of it. I'm glad Evan was ok with me writing about it. More than anything, I'm glad he's ok in real life, and I'm glad we had something good come out of something scary.