Why we blog came up in conversation yesterday, standing in the sunny entrance way of a lovely out of the way coffee shop... right in the way of the line that formed around us. Isn't that always the way with great conversations? I often try to figure out why I have this incessant need to put words down and then fling them to the universe but I have been unable to come up with a concrete answer. The words were given to me yesterday. A significant reason that I love writing, here to be specific, so much is that I get to be 100% authentic. There is no lost in translation, I present the same front to everyone who reads this. Taking this idea in hand I have decided to devote the next few months to living with that kind of authenticity, so far it has manifested in two ways. First, I feel no guilt what so ever for going to bed at 9:30. Mid conversation, mid episode of TV, mid algebra question. If I am tired I go to bed. The second way is the freedom to do what I want, when I want.
One such where I want when I want excursion happened this morning and I feel, for a very good reason. I spent my early hours being 'domestic' as my friend put it. Running errands, cleaning the house, grocery shopping for something other than macro bars and tortilla chips. The sun was out and I thought to my self ' If I didn't have so much math to do I would love to jaunt off to the mountains, take some pictures, get a coffee'. What was stopping me (other than an empty gas tank and bank account)? In that moment, instead of heading home I grabbed a large coffee, gas for Jay (my beloved Volvo DOES have a name!), my camera and headed west. There is very little as deeply satisfying as choosing Highway 1 WEST instead of East. In those hours I mentally revisited old haunts, turn offs for ski hills and hikes, pit stops, previous photo ops. I hummed along to the radio and did some drive by shooting - unfocused, through the windshield photography without looking through the viewfinder. All in all a great way to spend a morning.
I finally arrived in Canmore, grabbed more caffeine and ran into an old friend and her new daughter all the while reminded of my deep connection to the mountains, their definition of my young life.
The drive home was equally, if not more stunning as the sky was finally turning blue. It was less thoughtful, more petal to the metal, like a horse running home towards the barn. I finally settled in for an afternoon of study and checked my email before cracking the books. There, in my inbox was an email that was truly heartbreaking. Through tears of gratitude I read the obituary of a former teacher. I was lucky enough growing up to go to a school that recognized the deep importance of outdoor education. From the age of 9 we were inspired by and shown the mountains, rivers and lakes of Alberta and taught about how to live, work, and play in them with respect and awe. I attribute my love of the mountains and water to this upbringing and education. Mr. Preston was the spark for all of this. His calmness, his sense of humour, the way his eyes lit up when talking about backcountry safety or when unloading canoes to practice paddling below Ghost Lake. So many of those moments when I accomplished a trip, a summit, not losing a school canoe to the rapids, he was there for, he was the lifeblood of that program and I doubt if anyone who had him as teacher or trip leader felt any differently. I don't think it just a coincidence that the need to drive through rockies hit me so hard this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if it was some small connection to Mr. P and to all those ridiculous adventures we all shared.
'There is nothing ordinary about the mountains nor about those who seek meaning and beauty in them'
One such where I want when I want excursion happened this morning and I feel, for a very good reason. I spent my early hours being 'domestic' as my friend put it. Running errands, cleaning the house, grocery shopping for something other than macro bars and tortilla chips. The sun was out and I thought to my self ' If I didn't have so much math to do I would love to jaunt off to the mountains, take some pictures, get a coffee'. What was stopping me (other than an empty gas tank and bank account)? In that moment, instead of heading home I grabbed a large coffee, gas for Jay (my beloved Volvo DOES have a name!), my camera and headed west. There is very little as deeply satisfying as choosing Highway 1 WEST instead of East. In those hours I mentally revisited old haunts, turn offs for ski hills and hikes, pit stops, previous photo ops. I hummed along to the radio and did some drive by shooting - unfocused, through the windshield photography without looking through the viewfinder. All in all a great way to spend a morning.
I finally arrived in Canmore, grabbed more caffeine and ran into an old friend and her new daughter all the while reminded of my deep connection to the mountains, their definition of my young life.
The drive home was equally, if not more stunning as the sky was finally turning blue. It was less thoughtful, more petal to the metal, like a horse running home towards the barn. I finally settled in for an afternoon of study and checked my email before cracking the books. There, in my inbox was an email that was truly heartbreaking. Through tears of gratitude I read the obituary of a former teacher. I was lucky enough growing up to go to a school that recognized the deep importance of outdoor education. From the age of 9 we were inspired by and shown the mountains, rivers and lakes of Alberta and taught about how to live, work, and play in them with respect and awe. I attribute my love of the mountains and water to this upbringing and education. Mr. Preston was the spark for all of this. His calmness, his sense of humour, the way his eyes lit up when talking about backcountry safety or when unloading canoes to practice paddling below Ghost Lake. So many of those moments when I accomplished a trip, a summit, not losing a school canoe to the rapids, he was there for, he was the lifeblood of that program and I doubt if anyone who had him as teacher or trip leader felt any differently. I don't think it just a coincidence that the need to drive through rockies hit me so hard this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if it was some small connection to Mr. P and to all those ridiculous adventures we all shared.
'There is nothing ordinary about the mountains nor about those who seek meaning and beauty in them'
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