Ode on a Beach Chair

This year, for the first time since becoming Director of the Sugarbush Ski & Ride School, I had some real time off between the end of my season in Vermont and my departure for my “summer” in New Zealand. My time involved a range of things in a number of places, but it was principally dedicated to two inanimate objects that have important roles in my life. Both embody a certain philosophy and an approach to my personal time; both harbor lots of memories going back a long time; and both comfort my mind, body and spirit. One, my bicycle, involves exertion, suffering and euphoria, constant movement, and speed. The other is the opposite, by design. It’s my beloved old beach chair.

My beach chair is nothing special at first glance. It’s a clunky old-style chair that sits close to the ground with an aluminum tube frame, wood arm rests, an adjustable back, and an odd and really pretty ugly sliced fruit design on the fabric seat and back. It doesn’t have a handle or a shoulder strap, it has no snazzy bag it slips into, it has no brand, and it doesn’t advertise anything. My chair doesn’t have a name (I’m not prone to anthropomorphist tendencies). It is simply “my beach chair”. And it is mine. All mine.

The story of the acquisition of my beach chair is a part of its allure for me, but just a part. I bought it while strolling to take a ferry to an island in the middle of Long Island Sound to spend a very hot 4^th of July. It was in the middle of a very busy and incredibly stressful period in my former working life (that is, my life prior to seeing the light and becoming a ski professional). That day and my chair were part of a bigger point to make about where my priorities were (and weren’t) at the time. I headed out in morning with notes for the work project that was still in process, a fully charged cell phone, the New York Times, a good sandwich from the local deli, flip flops, hat, sunblock and the like. I walked directly to the neighborhood hardware store, bought the chair and sat in it for the entire day. That was almost twenty years ago and the chair has been a part of my life ever since.

The thing that makes a great beach chair so wonderful is what it’s not. It is a beach chair, not a lawn chair, a deck chair or a piece of outdoor furniture. It’s not particularly mobile, so it’s not the sort of thing one can bring anywhere requiring a lot of walking. It’s low-slung style and casual posture makes it unworthy as a dining chair for meals with friends on the patio in summer. It’s a bit tough to get in and out of so it’s not ideal for watching sporting events. It is however, perfect for short strolls to village greens to watch 4^th of July fireworks, listening to outdoor concerts, outings to not-very-distant beaches, reading the entire newspaper in the local park, and generally listening to the wind in the trees and watching the world go by. It’s also exceptional for that particularly indispensable warm-weather activity: the impromptu nap while “reading”.

After a long season of constantly running around, looking after the best interests of our guests, my staff, and lots of other folks in weather and under circumstances that can be challenging in a good winter, my chair looms in my imagination. Don’t make too many plans and make them all stress free; commit to doing things that are open-ended by design; eat when hungry, sleep when tired; spend time with people of your own choosing; rotate every so often to face the sun; spend hours contemplating your next move – not your next professional move, social move, or intellectual one. Water or ice tea, or maybe that ice cold Miller High Life hiding in the back of the fridge. It’s a big decision, so don’t rush it. Above all, be present, be aware of your surroundings but at one with them, and be yourself. My beach chair promotes all of this and, in particular, this mode of thinking.

We've had a good few weeks, my beach chair and I, and I’m grateful for it. Unfortunately, my beach chair cannot come where I am going and it wouldn’t be very useful there anyway. I’m on my way to New Zealand for my next winter, but I’ll look forward to reconnecting with my beach chair when I come home and to finding the peace of mind it promotes. In the interim, my tenth Kiwi winter starts next week and it won’t exactly be a hardship!