There’s a place I think of every minute.
For every month, for every week, for every day, for every hour. It’s all I can think about until I’m finally there.
It’s concrete. It’s tangible.
And if I wanted to, I could be there within 6 hours of any given moment.
I could give you a laundry list of reasons about why Aspen is one of the absolute best places to be. And I don’t mean just in winter. Anytime.
But that list of reasons is not what I dream about. It’s not what I find myself wondering about at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon.
As I sit in a softly-lit meeting room, I look out of the window at the street below thinking about romping through 2 feet of snow. Bouncing softly as snow gradually builds into my beard, gently caressing my face and turning my blue and yellow jacket a softer hue.
I dream about the experiences I’ve had:
the feeling of cruising through a forest in a foot of freshly fallen powder with nothing but silence and the more-than-occasional release of that outrageous feeling that builds up waiting to billow out.
“Whooo” and “yeah buddy!” heard as we sail through the wilderness, effortlessly gliding, weaving, slashing our way through the sparsely spread conifers and spruce into wide open fields of fluff.
The feeling from an hour of hiking up Aspen Highlands bowl and across to our drop-in spot, looking out across the Rocky Mountains.
Or standing humbled in front of the Maroon Bells, looking across the valley floor as it expands and swallows entire forests in its vast embrace.
That’s what I crave.
It’s in that moment that I am alive.