There’s a funny thing about missing something.
Sometimes you don’t miss the whole experience. You miss one particular piece of it.
For me, I miss skiing.
I miss the act of actually being on skis in the mountains. The feeling of sliding down a mountain, picking a line, turning when you want to turn, and letting gravity handle the transportation.
That part? I miss it.
But everything surrounding it?
Not so much.
I never really enjoyed the crowds. Never have. Never will.
There’s something slightly ridiculous about driving into the mountains looking for freedom, only to spend part of the day sitting in traffic, searching for parking, standing in lift lines and negotiating a run with approximately 4,000 of your newest acquaintances.
Give me the mountain.
You can keep the people.
The Part I Miss
What I remember most is the feeling of actually skiing.
You’re moving. The mountain is changing underneath you. You’re making decisions without thinking too much about them. Left turn. Right turn. Slow down. Let it run.
For a while, everything else disappears.
That’s the part I miss.
Not the parking lot.
Not the lift line.
Definitely not the person who stops directly in front of you in the middle of the trail as if they have suddenly received an important message from the universe.
Just the skiing.
But Things Change
The strange part is that skiing isn’t really the same proposition for me anymore.
My life changed. My circumstances changed. And the mountains didn’t exactly send me a personalized invitation saying, BenJammin, we’ve saved you a quiet chairlift.
So the skis now live in the basement.
They’re still there, patiently waiting for their big comeback that probably isn’t coming.
I suppose they have officially transitioned from sporting equipment to historical artifacts.
And that’s okay.
I can miss something without needing to bring it back.
Maybe That’s What I Really Miss
Maybe I don’t miss skiing as much as I miss the version of myself who could simply grab the skis and go.
No complicated calculations.
No wondering whether the crowds would be worth it.
No questioning whether the mountain was still a place where I belonged.
Just skis, snow and gravity.
I miss that.
But I still don’t miss the crowds.
Never did.
Never will.
The mountains can keep their crowds. I’ll keep the memory of having them mostly to myself
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