Through every forest, above the trees

I had a peak experience, y'all. No, not that kind of peak experience. This was in public. OK, yeah, that's not so much of an excluding factor. Geesh. This was something beyond. It was a few weeks ago already. I thought I was hesitant to share it because it was personal; something singular and nearly mystical. But mostly I hesitated because it makes me sound like a nutbag. So it was Sicily, 1942. No, no, it was Vancouver 2006. My vacation, remember? Well, there was one particular day, one particular moment actually, that stands out from that trip. It was me and Michael and his son, Jason, on the slopes that day. These are great guys, y'all. So cool and so chill. Do people still say "chill"? Did they ever? Anyway, it fits. Such a relaxing vibe. The day was gorgeous. The ski conditions were phenomenal. There was a nearly cloudless blue sky, but it had snowed the whole night before. This wasn't typical spring snow either. It was the fluffiest powder you can imagine. Your skis whispered through it. This is what's called a Bluebird Day in skiing parlance. Mikey, Jason and I made our way to the top of Whistler Mountain, joking and laughing on the chair lift. You could feel the sun kissing your face. At the top, the boys decided to board through the terrain park. I was on skis and decided to drop down into a pristine bowl nearby. Just as I stood poised on the edge, some Sufjan Stevens, all symphonic and strings-laden, came swelling through my buds. I jumped and started making turns through the freshies. Effortless. Beautiful. No worries. No judgements. I'm claiming it as a peak experience. I don't think Maslow would argue. See for yourself. Bliss. There have only been a few of those moments in my life. You know the feeling?

See. Nutbag.