The Fat Flakes Fall

That's more like it...
from the Solitude Facebook page

It's hard to get more depressing than rain in January when you live in Utah. Adding insult to injury is that thousands are gathered here in Salt Lake City for the Outdoor Retailer (OR) show this week and the skies in the valley have been dumping nothing but 33°+ water droplets. For some attendees, this was their first taste of Utah's winter. Our mountains should have been cutting a crisp white line across bluebird skies- instead they've been socked in gray while rivers of rainfall run through the downtown gutterways.

But that changed yesterday. I was buried in my smartphone's calendar, busily trying to sort out my next appointment at OR when I quickly took a glance to establish my surroundings. A ceiling to floor window caught my eye, revealing the magic that had taken place: the 33°+ droplets had transformed to fat feather-like flakes drifting through the air. I stopped still and stared, forgetting my smartphone and appointments. A rush of relief spread over me. It was finally snowing in Salt Lake.

from skiutah.com - Jan 18, 2012

I do need to clarify... we have been graced with a healthy punch of winterness in our mountains for a couple of days, but when it's raining below it usually means a dense layer of snow in the upper elevations. Hey- not that I'm complaining. We've seen well over 3 feet of snow since January 18th, so at long last I'll be off my rock skis. However, a bit of jubilation is expected when the rain changes to snow in the valley- skiers know that means conditions are improving at their favorite resort. 

Therefore, as a skier, it was my duty to check one of my favorite resort's snow report first thing this morning. Solitude is boasting a healthy 27" of new snow in the past 24 hours- which is close to what the base depth was previous to this storm. It's a cold 23° up there, which helps keep this particular snowfall lighter than what we've been experiencing the past couple of days. Hallelujah!

I wasn't the only one rejoicing. As I tore myself away from the window and continued on, the hum of "Did you see?", "It's snowing!" and "The flakes are huge!" carried me all the way to my appointment. The first five minutes of conversation with the PR rep I was meeting with were taken up by discussion surrounding this weather phenomenon and the skiing that would ensue as soon as Outdoor Retailer concluded.

As for me, I have no doubt where my Line Pandora skis and I will be rocking (on powder!) tomorrow morning- a secret stash at Solitude will be waiting. And for all you "snow snobs" who have been allowing your skis to gather dust- it's time to brush them off and wax them down. Winter has arrived. 

Seek and Ye Shall Find

With so many neglected skis gathering dust in closets, there's bound to be treasure out there for the one who searches in the right places. To this minority, I applaud. While the snow snobs keep sighing over lack of snow, your skis, dripping from melted snow in the back of your truck, have just enjoyed a day of secret stashes. This is the story of how I found mine:

I was running on about two hours of sleep after baking all night for a Sugared Magnolia order when I was asked to go skiing at Solitude Mountain Resort. I didn't think I would have the energy needed to keep up with my own skis, let alone those of my friends. But, already missing the cold mountain air I had been in this past weekend, I complied and hoped for the best.

Since I was ice climbing in Colorado during the last snow storm, it completely escaped my mind that a new layer of white had fallen on the Utah mountains and patches of it still hung around off trail- my favorite area anyway. I was expecting more icy conditions upon my return to Solitude, but was surprised by how soft even the base layer was. No, these were not pristine conditions that begged for my powder skis, but my trusty rock skis could maneuver between the occasional exposed hard spot and the soft snow that was plentiful off-piste. And when I was funneled back to the trail from my wanderings in the ungroomed, I found no occasion for keeping a wary eye- the runs were clear of obstacles so I was free to make the wide, arcing turns that are the beauty of groomers.

Now, dear reader, you get a bonus for joining me on my search for snow. I'm about to divulge what another skier should never share. If you want the good stuff, head up the Summit lift and stay left off the top. Enjoy a few hits of powder there (I got about four turns of untracked goodness) and then continue on down to the Headwall Forest. Inside this magical place the trees have dutifully protected the soft snow below. You'll find each turn as good as mid-winter (in a normal year) and lots of powder pockets between the trees. As you exit, take note of the smile on your face. You're welcome.

Don't think I've given away my best secret, though! You gotta do some exploring yourself.  There is one other area off the Summit chair that will make you feel as though you've hit gold... just follow a traverse. That's all I'm going to say.

Skiing may be the last thing on people's minds but the diligent seeker shall find, and find well. So dust off the skis, my friends. There's goods to be had.

On the Road Again :: Ouray Ice Climbing Festival 2012

Photos from members of my ice climbing entourage

As soon as I piled into the truck with my climbing gear and four other people, I knew I was in the right spot. We were headed to Ouray, Colorado for my second trip to the annual Ouray Ice Festival, about 6.5 hours away from Salt Lake City. Although the climbing had changed from rock to ice and my trip partners had multiplied from one to ten, being back on the road felt exactly like going home to The Most Epic Trip. I felt an inward sigh of relief as we hit highway speeds in a truck filled with gear.  I was on the road again. 

One of my favorite climbs this weekend

This weekend was refreshing both physically and mentally. Imagine going from living in the clean air for six months to a smog-filled basin filled with traffic, noise, and dangerous air-borne particulates trying to lodge themselves in your lungs. Because of this inversion-caused pollution and lack of snow, I hadn't been venturing much into the outdoors. It's been a rough transition. Therefore, the opportunity to escape into the mountains for four days and exert my pent-up energy on sheets of frozen water was as welcome as being fed a homemade meal after months of fast food. I felt gratitude for the amazing world we live in, for the body I have that can move among the elements of rock, ice and snow, and for the people milling about the festival- reminding me that I was not alone in my love for tackling the challenges of those elements.

I was greeted warmly by some familiar faces from last year- some even by name which surprised me. The ice climbing world has a level of acceptance that surpasses the clubs and organizations to which I've belonged. It's probably because there are few people "crazy" enough to want to stick themselves on something as unstable as frozen water. When these people find each other, the "whys" of ice climbing is a given, lending itself to a great foundation for conversation and camaraderie. I was given hugs, passing high-fives and shouts of hellos as I walked by. Talk about making a girl feel good! 

Our moms are all glad we're off the ice...

Aside from the competitions, raffles,  rubbing shoulders with athletes and leaders in the industry, there was the ice. It was simultaneously the backdrop and the highlight of the weekend. Flicking my tools into the clear blue surface of the ice, I felt a shock of exhilaration speed from my heart throughout my body. My crampons bit into the smooth frozen water and I moved up, flicking my pick into a placement overhead. I was climbing again. And not only was I climbing, but I was climbing with icicles dangling overhead, snow falling lightly onto my face and sporadic calls of congratulations for well-placed moves coming from below. 

It's dangerous, yes. It might be crazy (sorry, Mom). But when you are faced with a mass of ice and the tools to tackle it- when you are in that moment where people believe in you and you believe in yourself- there's nothing like taking on that challenge and achieving it. There's nothing better than standing on top of that frozen waterfall, looking down over chandelier ice and knowing you are the reason you made it up there.

For more photos, click here. 

Yes, Virginia, there is a sun!

Study the two pictures below. The one on the left is the view of the city. The one on the right is from  Solitude Resort. Both are taken within an hour of each other.




 

Let us begin our examination in comparisons. Both photos have clouds. The photo on the left features a pollution cloud filled with smog particulates from an inversion that hangs over the otherwise picturesque valley of Salt Lake. The clouds on the right are happy little clouds filled with H20 and little else.

Both have lines. The ones on the left are power lines that crisscross the city and disrupt views of the mountains- which are visable when the city isn't blanketed in yellow air. The lines on the left are chairlift cables that whisk you up to incredibly clear views of unobstructed panoramas.

Both pictures have people. The people on the left are hidden in buildings and cars- boxes that keep them from interacting with the outdoors- which is probably a good thing since they'd otherwise be sucking in the chemicals floating in the city air. The people on the right are fully exposed to the outdoor elements- a good thing because up in the clean mountain air, they are filling their lungs with freshness, getting vitamin D from the sun, and awakening their senses with crisp air.

About to escape the "cloud"

Since being back in Salt Lake City, I have looked out my window every day to discover an ever-thickening cloud of toxicity enveloping this valley. The mountains are hidden behind a layer of noxious air- air which has banned the sun from showing its cheery face. But it's not just my visual senses that are offended. Almost immediately upon my return, I noticed a severe increase in respiratory problems as well.

Yesterday I had about enough of this. I didn't move to Utah to be closed indoors with curtains drawn to avoid a sickening yellow cloud. The air in my apartment, being closed up against the outdoors couldn't be that much better for me. I had to get out and the only place I could think to go was up.

Yes, Virginia, there IS a sun!

As I zoomed (having a Mazda, this is the adjective I am trained to use) up Big Cottonwood Canyon, the muck persisted until, by what seemed a providential sign that I was nearing a place I hold sacred, I spotted a peak touched by golden afternoon sun. "The sun still exists!" I smiled to myself as I pulled over to snap a photo.

Arriving at Solitude Resort, my spirits soared. Sun- everywhere. Tiny wisps of clouds in an otherwise bluebird sky. People freely playing outdoors with no concern for the health of their lungs. And other than people laughing and chatting with each other, a peaceful stillness that quieted the city buzz that had been ringing in my ears.

For the first time since being back in Utah, I felt at home. I felt rejuvenated, alive, alert, and strangely clean. Taking a few runs, I felt how surprisingly soft the snow felt on the sides of the trails and heard the laughter of children as they trailed parents or toppled over a skis. This is what I was used to at Christmas time- a winter wonderland of bundled up folks sporting rosy cheeks and smiles. This is what I had been missing in the valley.


My Christmas tip: Head up to the mountains, my friends. Bring your skis and play. Create some sunny winter memories to replace the gray here below. Trust me, you'll feel Christmas the way it's meant to be.

In Answer to Re-Entry: Coming Home After an Adventure

Steve pausing on West Virginia's Via Ferrata

Today seems to be a reflective one. There are few fellow travelers that I keep up with on Twitter who I either met on The Most Epic Trip or who I shared ideas back and forth with during the trip.  Today's talk seems to be circulating among a tight group on Twitter about Amy Christensen's recent post Re-Entry: Coming Home After an Adventure. As I was posting my comment, I came to realize some important things about my behavior pattern since being on the road. I guess I just had a self-guided therapy session. Introspection to the rescue! Here's where I was guided [taken from my comment on Amy's blog]:

Amy-
Andy showed this post to me this morning; I know we've talked a bit on another post about the feelings of coming back from something like [The Most Epic Trip]. It's difficult to put into words, but I tried:

During the trip, the closer I came to realizing that my return to "civilization" was imminent, the more I grew uneasy with settling down and becoming part of the urban world again. It's been two weeks since being back and I'm dealing with the woes that come from living in a capital city- smog, traffic, apartment life and the general buzz that constantly surrounds me. I feel the constant need to escape.

Basically, I can't settle in. I feel a constant need to be doing something, to be busy, to be creating or cleaning or whatever.  I'm sure it was driving Steve crazy; however I just recognized what I was doing and realization struck. When we were on the trip, we were constantly doing something. Even if we were just taking it easy in the hammock, we were experiencing the trip. But really, it was usually more movement than that- we were always discovering, always traveling, always learning, always organizing, always writing, photographing, taking videos, meeting people, cooking, hiking, climbing, etc... we were always doing something. The return to a stable environment is very unsettling for me and I just realized that I am in hyperactive mode, feeling like things need to get done, need to be finished, etc. But when I was on the trip, it was all enjoyable because it was all part of a larger experience. Back in this city- it's all busy work. I'm rushing towards nothing. Not in a negative way- it's just the comparison between the trip and "home" brings me to realize that the trip's activities held so much meaning to me, whereas here I'm not getting the same satisfaction, so perhaps it has been subconsciously driving me to do more. Like someone hooked on drugs who doesn't get the same "fix" as they once did so they up their intake.

Steve mentioned [in his comment on the blog] feeling isolated- that no one really understood where he was coming from. While I haven't felt completely that way- I felt that he, as well as people that we met on the trip, could relate- I have felt cut off from other people directly around me. Maybe self-imposed, but I have a hard time relating to the general public. When I do get a chance to talk about the trip, especially with those who have done something similar, I am so very grateful. It feels like rehab.

Anyway, those are my rambling thoughts on the matter.  This is a new type of adventure. It's different than one I would have planned for myself, but that's the beauty- I just have to create it into one I choose. One day I'll do a trip like this again- and not "one day" in a wishful way- but in a determined it-will-be-done manner. It's in my blood now and I'm sure it will be throughout life.   

What experiences changed you and caused you to feel a little rough in the situations and places you used to fit in? What did you do to overcome that or grow from it?

P.S. Special thanks to Andy who showed me Amy's post today and made this whole insight thing possible. =)

Birthday Wish- charity: water

When we are thirsty, we put a glass under the tap. 

Do you take this for granted? I do- I realized a tiny bit of this while hunting for clean water sources on The Most Epic Trip. At home, the journey to my kitchen faucet is a mere 5 second walk from any point in my apartment. But that's not all- I take water that is already considered the most sanitary in the world and filter it further through a purifier just to make it taste a little better. 

Meanwhile, thousands of others make due with water shared with livestock, mixed with sewage, or contaminated with deadly factory runoff. 


What a princely manner in which we live.

For my birthday this month- and for Christmas, I'm asking you- my readers- for a special gift. I don't want (or need) anything extra. But I do want to see others have some of what we enjoy every day here in America- clean water. So I'm asking you to help me raise $100 for charity: water; a charity which gives 100% - every single cent of every single dollar donated- directly to providing clean water to others. They then find other ways to pay for their time. You can give now by simply clicking here: charity: water



What luxury can you give up today to provide something good for others during this season of giving? How about that cup of Starbucks coffee? A lunch date? A fast food meal? These items are gone in a matter of minutes- clean water affects an entire life. 

Please share this post wherever you can- email, post on Facebook and Google+, tweet about it, Digg it, etc. Together we can raise the necessary funding to provide clean, drinkable water to children and families in developing nations. 


(Please watch this incredible video- even if you don't care about water, you'll love the cinematography)


Give now: click here

Return from a Road Trip: Making Sense of Life 6 Months Later

I boarded the plane in Florida, headed back to a home which had I had all but forgotten. It's hard to imagine that a place you were once so enamored with could be dismissed over the course of a few months of travel, but that's what happened.

Makeshift kitchen in Squamish

During The Most Epic Trip, I had come to think of my car, my tent, the camping spot I was in, the rock faces I climbed, the roads and waterways- all of these as home. Indeed, the entire continent of North America was home. The mountains, the trees, the people- they were all fixtures in the great expanse of the continent I roamed about in. It was all home.

But then suddenly, it was time to return.

Week One: City of Rocks

It still makes me teary-eyed to reflect on this change from a few days ago. The trip didn't end the way we planned, which made it even harder. But the biggest difficulty I faced was going back to a place where I had once lived a completely different life and back into an apartment full of stuff. I was overwhelmed by the amount of things I had to unpack from a storage unit, and the disconnect I felt with the outdoors. No clean air sweeping over me as I slept. No birds waking me in the morning. No trees rustling with the wind. Just dead interior air. And stuff... everywhere.

Knife edge traverse in Rumney, NH

As I sat with my face pressed against the airplane window, I felt something completely different than I imagined I would feel at this moment of return. Instead of relief for being done with nearly six months of traveling, I felt a bit of trepidation and a giant dose of anxiety. What would being back in a city feel like? Would I be able to handle the noise, the cars, the fast pace? Would I be able to find a job? Could I afford to be back and pay for rent, utilities, internet? I was being rushed from simplicity into complication and it didn't feel right.

Time Out in Bellingham, WA

I still don't feel right. I would give anything to be back on the road. I blame it on my parents who trained us to take to the road at an early age. We visited the Smoky Mountains every Fall, drove to Maine and Virginia regularly, and traversed across the wide West whenever the opportunity arose. I carried that tradition into my early college years- taking off whenever I felt too confined and needed to break free of four walls. Anytime I could go further on the road, I took that opportunity. If continents were connected, I'd be long gone on the other side of Pangea.

Sunset in Smith Rock

I don't know yet what lessons I've learned yet from this trip. They will unveil themselves in time, I'm sure. I still don't fully know how this trip has changed me or my perspective, but I do know one thing: through the trying times, the triumphs, the getting lost, the finding beauty, meeting new friends and the rare stranger, I dreamed big, I lived bigger, and I loved it every moment of it.

Thank you all for your words of encouragement during this trip- for your interaction with us on Facebook, Twitter, our blog and here. I so very much appreciate you and whatever part you played in our experience during this trip- even if it was just a comment or thought. Stay tuned as my wheels won't be out of commission for long...

A song we listened to on the way to the Smokies as kids

All I Can : JP Auclair, Urban Skiing and the Beauty of Old Snow

Gritty. Grimy. Rough. Unpolished.

The JP Auclair segment from the highly acclaimed All.I.Can ski flick has "urban" sewn into its very foundation. From the water dripping off the eaves of a soot-caked roof to the sparks that fly up as metal ski edges catch hold of coarse concrete, this five minute motion exploration of urban skiing encapsulates the untold bits of a sport that trends towards glitz and glamour.

A JP Auclair example: It's hard to deny the charm of a French-Canadian

Auclair, who tops the charts as one of my favorite skiers (along with Seth Morrison), not only has the dashingly good looks of the French Canadian tribe (yes, being one, I am biased) but also the skills that take his skis to the air, initiative that makes him a leader in ski manufacturing, and a heart that takes on more than self-interest. These traits combine to make a well-rounded ski celebrity who is worth keeping tabs on.

In this clip, Auclair guides us through the "behind the scenes" of urban rail slides and jibbing. There's no glossy magazine spreads here, no brightly clad masses of teen boys trying to impress themselves. Auclair, the singular star of the moment, almost becomes second to the sport itself- rare in the world of urban skiing- as he traverses the demands of a frozen cityscape.

For many, it is difficult to find beauty in the mundane aspects of winter life. However, when brought together by masterful film artists, perspectives open and we begin to almost welcome what was previously abhorred. It is in the world of these artists that we discover the beauty of old snow, crystalized into grains, as its movement is caught in slow motion. We see the aesthetic contribution that wiry, barren, winter trees make against the cold sky as birds are flushed out of its tangled branches. Most importantly though, as Auclair navigates the bleak surroundings of a city cloaked in snow, we find an exuberance in simply skiing.

Enjoy.

The Best Way to Shop Cyber Monday : Support A Blog's Affiliate Links

It's Cyber Monday and many of us are scouring the web for deals. We are sandwiched between Thanksgiving and Christmas, holidays that teach us to give thanks and give to others. Many of you know I'm a big believer in supporting the little guy, so I'd like to combine the first two statements of this post into one idea and present it to you: Instead of buying straight from the source, why not look over your favorite blog's affiliate links and order through them? 

When you purchase through the affiliate links on a blog's site, it is a win-win situation. Affiliate links often advertise the same deals that you would get when you go straight to the source, so you're not paying a penny more. However, instead of just forking the money over to the big retailer and helping no one in-between, by using a blog's affiliate links, the blog's author will get a bit of compensation for their hours of research, writing and editing. When you choose to shop online through affiliate links, you're showing bloggers you value their time, their opinion, and their blog. You help them stick through with their commitment to bring value to your "screen time."  Bonus: you'll come away knowing you helped your favorite blog, its community, and have supported a small business- that's what blogs are, after all! Shopping through a blog's affiliate links just makes sense. 

Keep Cyber Monday focused on small business. Shop through your favorite blog's affiliate links and spread the word!

Ski Snowbasin This Thanksgiving!

Although I believe all our Utah ski and snowboard resorts have claims to fame when it comes to beauty, one that takes my breath away is Snowbasin. Located between two picturesque valleys about 35 miles north of Salt Lake City, Snowbasin is...

(Just wanted to share my latest article at http://www.outdoorwomensalliance.com/2011/11/thanksgiving-at-snowbasin.html - go check it out! :)

Life Lessons from The Matrix

I've never seen the Matrix, but I assume a lot of you have. While doing some online research (really, do I need to qualify this with "online" anymore?), I came across a leadership conference video where the speakers took clips from the Matrix to create a platform for their points.

That's when I learned the Matrix is full of life lessons.



While I don't condone jumping from very tall buildings in an attempt to let go of fear, doubt and disbelief, I do condone finding what "tall buildings" you've let stand in your way and then changing your view to the truth of the matter: that they are merely hurdles- and hurdles can be jumped.

It is our mindset that is our biggest obstacle. Once we let go of the three dream killers: fear, doubt and disbelief, we understand that we are not faced with anything insurmountable in this life except death. So go live.

A Plea From a Broken Heart: Utah Ski Season 2011-2012

No hiking at all for me today

It was like Christmas Eve last night and I was the six year old child trying to keep my eyes squeezed shut long enough for the early signs of dawn when I could jump out of bed and race to my... computer.

Yes, this is what I have been reduced to- a spectator of the ski season beginning. All the wonderfulness of winter begins today in Utah with my beloved Big Cottonwood Canyon resorts in the lead. My own dear Solitude resort opened with three lifts. Three! Yet, here I dejectedly sit, about as far as you can get from participating from this yearly celebration. As I write this, I stare out on a vista of palms and a slow, winding river filled with gators. I'm in Florida, kids. Feel my pain.

Usually I love being home. I grab the old canoe, paddle around the herons, egrets and manatees and explore the channels cut through the swamp by the Army Corps of Engineers to control the swarms of mosquitos that once plagued the area. I can be at the beach within 7 minutes and practicing my sand castle building skills. But to be here on the one day that marks the beginning of the best time of year? That's torture.

I've already pored over photos from last winter, stalked the Solitude Facebook page, and dug deep into the Twitter feeds from both resorts. Now all I can do is sit, and wait, for Utah to wake up, get their freshly tuned skis and boards loaded into their Subarus and hit the snow so I can live vicariously through my fellow (but much more luckily situated) snow enthusiasts.

Good readers, won't you please have some pity? This troubled heart needs compassion and it can only come in the form of you telling me details of your day. Photos, tweets, updates on Facebook- whatever. Yes, I actually want to hear how much fun you are having. Chalk it up as doing your good deed for the day- you'll be lifting the spirits of one who lives for snow but is stuck with sand.

All my thanks in advance. Now go make some turns.

photos included in this post are from my blissful days last season at Solitude. Ah. Pass a tissue, please. 

Solitude, Skiing and the Wisdom of Julian Carr

"Whether you think you can or think you can't- you're right." - Julian Carr hucking it 

off some Solitude terrain. 

Julian, you're my hero for the day. Not only did you put up a photo which demonstrates the defiance of rational thinking, but you used it to symbolize the succes of taking those risks (as you are still here to tell the tale). 

Yes. Risk taking is, well... risky. But what would we gain if we didn't huck ourselves off some cliffs once in a while? We'd never progress, we'd never inspire, we'd never push ourselves past our current "limits." And we certainly wouldn't have this amazing photo from Julian. 

Thanks for thinking you can, Julian. 

Sand Messages (Pt II)

Sunday I put up a post asking what you all would like written in the sand. I headed down to the beach yesterday to fulfill the requests. A storm was coming in and it was high tide- not the best time for drawing pictures, but it made for a pretty scene.

After rescuing a little bird from the tangled seaweed that had been pushed on shore, I cleared away the soft sand to get to the harder sand beneath and started drawing.

Do you have anything you want drawn on a sandy Florida beach? Let me know. Limited time offer as The Most Epic Trip is taking off soon!

Sand Messages

Today I want to do something kinda fun for you. While I am here in Florida on The Most Epic Trip and in close proximity to the sandy white beaches of Daytona, tell me what message you would like written (keep it clean, kids) and I'll go down to the beach and do a little artwork in the sand for you with your message.

It will look better than above... I was in a hurry there. A hurry to enjoy the sun. ;)

P.S. Feet not included.

The Chilling Tale of the Ice Man

Not scary, but chilly, for sure. Happy Halloween!

.

"To get what we've never had, we must do what we've never done."

Photo by MIKECOOTS

Sherpas Cinema Stop-motion: The Man and the Mammoth

Sherpas Cinema has been on fire with their much-talked about "All.I.Can," a winter flick exploring the relationship between climate change and winter sports. Known for their stunning cinematography, Sherpas Cinema is on the fast track for being a (skiing) household name. But little is known about their more playful side (and their twisted side):

The Man and the Mammoth from Sherpas Cinema on Vimeo.

Music Monday: Pictographs

It's Monday. You're not ready to let go of the weekend, but here you are, back at your desk, trying to wake up as the hours of daylight shrink. Let's get your brain started for the week ahead. Or at least before you head out to your first meeting. 

These Pictograms are clever illustrations of (mostly) well-known songs. See if you can guess the title before peeking at the names below the icons. 

The most appropriate one to start with: 

Now on to the rest: 

How many did you guess correctly? 

Penny for Your Heart

I want you to stop for a minute.  

Quiet things down. I need your full attention for this minute.

We're going to do some imagining with something very real. And we're starting by taking an inventory of your heart. 

I want you to find the idea that refuses to be shaken, the one that send a little zing through you. It could be anything- backpacking through the Himilayas, starting a nonprofit for schools in third world countries, building your own log cabin in the mountains, creating a line of accessories from thrift shop finds. Whatever it is, it's valid. Look for it. 

When you've got it, hold it out in front of your mind's eye and consciously acknowledge its presence. Now, for one full minute, I want you to trade the situation you are in now- office, home, hotel room, etc.- for the one you have in front of you. Dive in as if it is something you are entirely familiar with. See yourself setting up camp in the Himalayas and drinking tea at the little tea houses along the trek, look at the village children around you as they put their desks in order, inhale the sweet air surrounding the mountain cabin you now live in, envision the shine of the antique brooch you are refinishing. One minute. Go.

Now I must ask you: What's the dollar value of those memories you just imagined? What's the price tag on your dreams?

Take this question to heart. I'm not asking how much it would cost to make something happen. I'm asking for how much you would, if given the chance to live out that long-guarded and much loved fantastic dream of yours, turn around and sell the rich experience of it? How many dollars would you take for the memories and feeling of sheer satisfaction for living what's in your heart?

I assume (and hope) that most of you will answer that they're not for sale... that you would rather retain your remarkable memories than trade them for money. If that's the case, then we must move to the next logical question: 

Are you afraid?

What I believe stops us from pursuing our life is fear. When a dream suddenly becomes possible, we are unprepared for the transition. We’ve kept it at arm’s length for so long, content to some degree to wish on it and think about it for a time and then put it back and continue with the day-to-day.

The day-to-day. Is this really how we are supposed to live our lives? Is the purpose of having a dream simply to fill the gaps between worrying about bills and deadlines? I refuse to believe they are there for anything less than to become our own reality.

Warm up those cold feet by moving; run, walk – even crawl if you must – to the richness of your dreams. You can make it happen. You absolutely can.

...

I believe in teaching by example. See this idea in action.