chasing the dragon

i was skiing the other day in nearly three feet of fresh powder, lighter than flour, and it was perfect except that my mind came up the lifts with me.

in the middle of one run, i stopped and took a breath and realized that i was skiing with the desperation with which i formerly used. i needed the world to stop, and the only way i could do this was to hit the most perfect line through the woods. in the old days i needed the perfect amount of beer or tequila or drugs or combination thereof to reach this point. to achieve quiet.

the problem was that i had gotten spun out after dropping my son off at ski school. he cried and cried and cried, "No Daddy, don't leave me...." for hours afterwards i worried that i had done the wrong thing, though i wanted to believe i was acting in his best interest. he loves ski school, all right? but why does he cry?

later in the day, i saw him, passed him on the hill and he was happy as could be, proudly lugging his little skis up to the lift. his instructors told me when i picked him up that as soon as i had left, he had settled down, stopped crying, and had a blast skiing.

i knew all this, even before any of it happened, but fear had this grip on me--and then it freaked me out even more to discover that i was using skiing as a drug, as an escape. that can't be healthy.

but it's better than taking a bong hit.

actually, that's an0ther thing that threw me off. as i'm ripping down the bumps in this amazing snow--shoosh shoosh shoosh--i come upon two guys blowing a joint. the ganja smells good. i NOTICE. then at lunch, everyone's drinking beer, but not just little cans. no, they have these tall 20-odd ounce cans of Molson and/or Labatt. It's not that i want some, but that insidious self-pity sneaks in--why CAN'T i have some? SHOULDN'T i be able to blow a joint in the woods?

thankfully, i knuckled my way through the day and we came up again on sunday. i said some prayers in between. when i dropped luke off, he didn't cry (though he did a few minutes later, unbeknownst to me until pick-up). the conditions weren't quite as sweet, but i was skiing for fun, not out of some NEED. i skied hard, and i skied better than i had on saturday. it felt good, and i felt grateful that i hadn't gone and fucked things up.

when all was said and done, it turned out to be my wife's best day of skiing as well as luke's. i'm glad that we stayed. i'm glad that i didn't give into my fears and negativity after the funk of saturday--i had thought about bailing.

i'm not sure why this is so important--well, actually, i know a bit--it's because skiing has become our family activity. it's the thing that we all like, maybe the thing we all like best. and because of that, i wonder sometimes if it's my will or the hp's will. saturday felt like the former, but sunday, i believe, had to have been that of the latter.