It’s like raking leaves in a wind storm. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already moved that particular leaf at least twice” I think to myself, “and it may not look like it, but I definitely cleared the leaves from this section of the lawn first thing this morning”. Surely some people, dare I say most people, would find exercises like raking leaves in a wind storm frustrating or even nonsensical. I do not. It makes me smile from the inside out and is a welcome reminder of the absurdity of life and my joy in experiencing it. Ok, I do sometimes find it frustrating when I occasionally work as a landscaper and gardener in my shoulder seasons when the effort can be transactional and the final product does need to meet a certain standard. And then I remember how ridiculously fun it was as a child to spend all day raking the maple leaves in my family’s back yard only to swan dive into a gigantic pile, thrash around in it, and clean it all up again. It is, after all, an existential exercise worth savoring, and it is a consistent experience unaffected by the arc of time through my life. Rake up (or use a leaf blower) a property into nice piles to be transported to the compost pile, look up at the many leaves still left on the branches, hear the breeze well up, and enjoy as yet another golden blanket descends onto the ground.
I do not think that it’s an accident that children, Labrador
retrievers, and true practitioners of the ski instructors’ craft are
existentialists. Authenticity, shared experience, and personal freedom as a
means of seeking life’s true meaning are the hallmarks of existentialism, and
thrashing around in a pile of leaves serves that purpose well. Unless you get a
rash, which can be unfortunate. I’ll let someone else figure out how to explain
scratching an itchy rash in philosophical terms, in the meantime I have a point
to make about looking forward to the upcoming season of teaching and coaching
in the mountains.
There are components of my working life as an instructor and
coach where the objective of any particular activity is specific and measurable.
I was an alpine race coach before I was an instructor, and the clock and finish
order were a constant focus. I am absolutely certain that the process and
experience of being a race athlete and participating in the sport do lend
themselves to big picture philosophical thinking, but the necessity of being
results focused in the sport does require a certain myopia. Similarly for ski
instructors, certification is as close to an objective measure of a professional
standard as we have in the profession, albeit a very flawed one. Working with
instructors in their pursuit of advanced certification requires an operational approach
and clear performance objectives, and having a philosophical overlay comes
later with circumspection. It does remind me a bit of studying for and taking the
bar exam – just get the thing done and think existentially after. You can watch the
dragonflies dancing on the surface of Walden Pond after you pass the bar exam.
Don’t worry, I’m getting to the point.
Among the many things I love about teaching skiing and training
other instructors is that we really do not have an objective measure for the
success of our guests. If we really are good at what we do, it’s the enjoyment
of skiing and of the process of improving and learning together that keeps us
all - guests and staff alike - present, engaged, interested, and having a rip-roaring
good time. It is truly joyous. When we and our guests experience some component
of improved skiing or awareness of skiing in a way that brings us joy, it’s the
same joy that a child or an adult feels the first time the slide on snow, and that
joy definitely is childlike in nature.
There are instructors who forget that joy is the object, who
don’t experience skiing at that level or don’t care to, or simply lack the
skills necessary to participate alongside their guests in the pursuit of self-less
guidance rather than doctrinal instruction. I feel sorry for them and for their
guests. Make no mistake, there is real work involved, real focus, real effort,
and real challenges in every phase of our shared endeavor with our guests, but
the true prize always remains in focus when we create the right sort of
learning environment. I really do believe it to be an existential exercise at
its highest level, and I love every minute of it.
In my mind’s eye, I can see my friends and I at the bottom
of the Deep Temerity lift at Aspen Highlands on a typically dreamy, uncrowded
day, catching our breath after yet another stunningly fun run, smiling that
same smile that we had wrapped around our faces as kids in a pile of leaves
taller than we are. And laughing. And then doing it all over again.
Ok, this definitely is the fourth time I’ve raked up that leaf. And it’s the second time that bump threw me for a loop and made me cackle. Maybe the wind will stop for a moment and maybe I’ll have a little lighter touch next time on that part of the hill. Either way, I’ll enjoy every minute of it. And come back for more.
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| Looking West from Aspen, Colorado in October |
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