no 41

Have you accidentally looked into the sun or bright light and then looked away, and the image burned into your eyelids? That’s an afterimage.

I'm figuring out a good cadence for this newsletter. Is it once a week? Twice a month?

Lately, in practicing Afterimage, I'm giving myself more time to immerse myself in noticing: what's going on around me, what's happening inside of me? Then, dialoguing with it before I start writing. It's taking some time to figure out.

Thanks for bearing with me.

Here's what I saw, heard, or sensed that’s stayed with me the past week. Let’s begin.

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What My Body Said: But Not for Me

Black diamonds? Not for me unless they’re wearable. Gondolas and backcountry? That's for advanced people, not me. Being excited to wake up to a foot of snow? Not me.

When I arrived in Hokkaido two winters ago, I was not exactly a "snow person."

:::

I signed up for ski lessons my first winter here, not because I wanted to ski, but because I was tired of feeling sad waking up to a thick layer of snow every morning.

Some people scream (with joy) at the sight of massive snowfall and exit a house with ski gear faster than they would in a fire drill. I wondered: with lessons, could I become one of them?

:::

Taking lessons, I got used to suiting up, getting up the mountain, and coming down. I looked around at the scenery while on the lifts, and it heightened my hunch that ski resorts were man’s attempt to conquer nature and create expensive distractions along the way.

More than anything, I couldn’t stand getting into my ski boots. It didn’t make sense to give myself a false sense of relief by getting into something I'd desperately want to take off. I already had bras for that.

Since ski lessons didn’t quite do the job of converting me, I gave snowboarding a go and signed up for lessons this year.

:::

Snowboarding made me feel free for the first time in a while. Lessons allowed me to outsource decision-making to muscle memory, giving me ample bandwidth to be present.

It reassured me that I had the skills, technique, and safety knowledge to make my way down (almost) any mountain. That felt surprisingly good. It made me feel safe enough to enjoy everything the mountain offered.

I had permission to enjoy what was in front of me.

:::

A week after my last lesson, I went up the mountain on the gondola and descended the wrong slope. It was too late to take the one I’d intended. This one was steep, beyond my comfort level. I froze.

I took a breath. I located the fear inside my body, pretended to turn on the defrost button, and imagined it thawing. On the third round of breath, I heard a voice: “You know. You have everything you need to get down the mountain”. It was true. I did. During lessons, I did lap after lap with my instructor, who made me repeat everything I needed to know. It was etched into my body.

I opened my eyes. I had the slope to myself. The hill was wide. I breathed in. On the exhale, I pointed the board down the mountain for a split second, and off I went, making my way down.

What I hadn’t expected: sheer excitement and joy. The Texan in me came out, and with it, a high-pitched wooooooo hoooooo!!!

I did it.

I remembered fear only lasts as long as I stay static. The moment I move, it’s released. Or transforms into something else.

:::

Black diamonds still feel out of reach, but I love waking up to lots of snow. Snow clearing is easier and faster when I’m determined to get on the slopes early-ish. Gondolas are great. I still don’t like heights, but I fell in love with the views being guided through an abandoned ski resort last weekend.

Wait. I correct myself.

I'm learning to come down Black Diamonds: the ones on the inside.

A question for you: Do you deny yourself things that give you joy? What are the gondolas in your life? What are your Black Diamonds? And what's the first pivot or movement that helps you to make your way down any mountain?

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(Outro: Inspiration for the title of this week's installment of Afterimage: Chet Baker - But Not For Me )

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