I don’t really love to ski. We live in a ski town, which means it is blasphemy for me to have even written that sentence, but it is true. I like to ski for about 2 hours on a sunny, warm day, when there aren’t too many people on the mountain. It helps if I know there is a yummy lunch or a cookie waiting for me when I am finished. Yes, I like incentives.
I really enjoy being outside on a sunny, warm (30 degrees is great) day when the views are incredible and your body is warm enough that it doesn’t have to waste all of its energy just keeping you from freezing to death. (On days like those, my brain doesn’t function, and I can’t even enjoy the beautiful views that lay before me.)
Skiing yesterday, I think my two favorite parts of the day were riding the lifts and having a long lunch on a deck, soaking in the sunshine and fresh, mountain air. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the part where I was sliding quickly down a slippery slope, but after a couple hours, and one fall, my legs and my mind started to get out of sync. My skis get squirrely; my legs get shakey, and it just isn’t fun anymore (again, blasphemy, I know).
But, I figured it out. I wasn’t upset with my husband for laughing at me when I fell. I was missing our kids. I had a bad case of Empty Nest Syndrome. I’ve been home with our boys for nearly 5 years now, and although I have had time to myself, I have never really had a whole day to myself, and I was lost. This is not to say that I didn’t have a wonderful day with my fantastic husband, who took the day off to hang out with me. But, it was just so different that it threw me.
Strange. But, I suspect that there are at least a few people out there who can relate. Right?