Brimming of pine scent. And snow. And hot chocolate. In the serene quiet of a snowy land 9000 feet in the air, encapsulated in a small rocking gondola overlooking the entire lake and miles and miles of trees below, the world seemed momentarily at peace. Resting. Waiting. The expanse made me feel at once small, and yet my heart wanted to explode at its majesty. Next time if I have a kid I will bring them to place like this and tell them this:
when you feel too great, remember how small you are and that you are but one among many.
when you feel too small, remember that even the actions of a tiny thing like you in the midst of the cavernous unknown can change the whole wide world.
know your place, but don't be afraid to change your destiny.
En route to Tahoe, I got caught up in an unplanned detour that cost me one hour. It was a scenic detour, an escape deep into the hearts of the forests and into tiny roads that clung to the edges of roaring cliffs overlooking the valley. As the sun's rays poured through the leaves, liberally casting a pumpkin-red-and-yellow hue, I was struck breathtaken by the quiet beauty of the trees and mountains around me, morphing silently from red to brown to white, ushering in the cold days with a brilliant and blazing display.
I felt all alone, as if I had somehow stumbled across a mysterious world all to myself, a quiet and peaceful one. Even in my constant and slight annoyance - I can't believe this detour is making me one hour late! - I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps fate had cast me into this alcoved fairyland, the road less traveled by, forcing me to stare headfirst into the purity of nature and swallow its beauty whole.
I drove faster. Nature slowed me down with its hills and curves.
I sighed. Nature sighed louder and more beautifully, with its thousands of waving trees.
The trees seemed at once old and sage, and yet on the other hand young and wistful. I couldn't decide which. The sun was setting in liquid gold, pouring weak rays of light over everything it touched, and here and there I could see pockets of snow, angel-white against the brown and green. I turned the radio off, wound the windows down, and listened to the music of the forest that sung for few to hear, for few traversed these parts. And thus for an hour, I was spellbound despite myself.
--
I learned an important lesson from a kid at Tahoe.
He must not have been more than six years old, and yet he was a daredevil on the snowboard (and somewhat of a showoff, but in a cute way). And the kid was good.
I was sitting on my snowboard taking a rest and observing this spunky kid who would flash a grin every time he did a perfect run. But there were good runs, and bad ones. And yet throughout it all, he picked his little body up and huffed up the hill again. And when he fell, he would laugh and look for all the world as if that too, was all part of the fun.
Kids don't give up, do they? Precisely because they are young, and brash, and have so much to learn, they absorb like a sponge and keep trying. Of course they should, because they are young. Right? And if they don't know something, it's alright, because they are young. But somewhere along the years, we somehow lose the kid in us. We get shy. We get self-conscious. "Of course I can learn" becomes "I should know this" or "I'm too old to learn this". And that's why kids learn like lightning, and adults, just a tad slower.
I picked up my snowboard and tried again. I knew I was going to fall, but that's alright. For I would pick myself up over and over again, and that was all part of the fun.
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