a caravan of vehicle snakes up snow covered mountain road. it's a clear night, we drive until a gleaming crescent moon. inside the various cars are friends and acquaintances in varying states of consciousness. although we all are in different points in our lives, we share a common tread. we are chasing the joy of snow.
life is not perfect, their is lingering discomfort between some of us. Others of the group came to leave discomfort behind. I am here chasing my discomfort. I am here finding who I am, a writer. I'm starting to accept that fact. It is who I've always been but up til now I didn't want to believe my own story.
The cars slow as my anxiety grows. we've arrived at our next ski destination. We have time enough for a few winks of sleep. however, before the sunrises we want to already be making our way to the lift line, first chair is a mindset embraced at any new location, even during questionable snow conditions. I look forward to the ride. after it will be time to share my book. I am a writer now, it is what I do. By understanding it, by embracing it, by becoming it, what I do allows me the freedom to experience what I love.
Back now from my vision, I sip the last of the juice in my glass. the rich tannins linger on the tongue while notes of cherry and darkberry shape turns down the back of my throat. I think about an epic powder run, the hopeful promise of any ski vacation. (that is up to mother nature to decide.) Those that choose to join me on this journey will experience it as a ski vacation. I will know that is all it is. but to justify our ambitions, to give permission to ourselves to take on this joy filled journey, we'll call it a book tour.
back to work, I write it into existence.
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