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white space
January 4, 2015

I didn’t really get into tree skiing until I was 20 and my fear was firmly in tact. All I saw was trees. Lots of begging my quad muscles to stop my body to avoid the giant trees that were committed to my eventual concussion. I was arhythmic and awkward. And I wanted it. I watched my husband and our friends glide through woods, one hundred percent aware of their body width, speed, ability; giving in to pitch, sailing with the precision and confidence and grace of a low-flying bird.

I’m still not a great tree skier but the trees are a favorite place to be. It’s always quiet, with the occasional bright blur to the left or right – a vibrant, alive low-flying bird doing its thing. I like the challenge. The immobility of the trees – the invitation of the inconsistent, alluring space between them. The altitude, the puzzle, the dare. The commitment, the euphoria when turns match breath, the frustration when nothing aligns. The fun of it alone, the fun of it with friends shrieking a few trees away. Laughter echoing among trunks and roots and canopies older than we are.

There’s this philosophy about tree skiing: that if one focuses on the space between the trees, the body will go there; if one focuses on the trees, the body will go there. So the SECRET to smooth, confident, fluid tree skiing is peripherally, barely noticing what you don’t want (tree collision) and focusing your entire self on what you DO want (floating through wintery portals).

I want my daughters to ski trees. I want my daughters to see the white space between the trees.

I want them to know the adrenaline burst of standing before an unknown plot. I want them to begin by aiming their bodies toward the bright, inviting place. I want them to trust their choice. To push their shins against their boots. To aim their heart toward the next thing. To feel their very own earthly support. To know the support of their family. To lean into gravity, point toward fear and need and want and trust and thirst and naivety and importance and fallibility. To carve a turn through giant obstacles, like a swift thread through a needle. To follow another’s path. To forge their own. To bury their face in snow so bright they can’t breathe for the joy of it all. To fall gently. To fall hard. To feel what they feel. To hurry. To take their time. To do it again. To stop when they feel like it’s time to stop.

To begin again by aiming their bodies toward the bright, inviting, white space.

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15 Comments


maggie
January 4, 2015 at 9:07 PM

What a beautiful post for the start of the year. I hope we all will “aim our bodies toward the bright, inviting, white space ” of the new year. Thanks for that!



Molly
January 5, 2015 at 2:16 AM

I’m learning to ride a motorbike and it’s the same philosophy – look where you want to go, not at that which you wish to avoid. I’d also thought it an excellent life lesson.
Love your words.



Cathy
January 5, 2015 at 6:28 AM

Beautifully written words. Rock – solid base camp for your daughters’ current and future lives.



Lindsey
January 5, 2015 at 7:24 AM

I love this. I want my children to ski trees too. I want them to trust their instincts to find their way even when a path isn’t evident. Thank you! xox



kristin
January 5, 2015 at 8:13 AM

Love it – I’m in the same boat and fully expect my daughter to be out-skiing me in 2 years (she’s 3). One request for advice, though…. how do you keep their little feet warm in ski boots? We went out yesterday and she’s got SmartWool socks, but her little piggies were ice cubes after a couple of hours. Thank you!



    Elizabeth
    January 6, 2015 at 10:58 AM

    If I may, I can tell you what we do (our family skis in the Canadian Rockies all winter and great socks and boots alone just don’t cut it on the really cold days!)…

    We use Hot Shots – like this: http://www.sunandsnow.ca/pg11toe.html
    You stick them on the bottom of your socks (there are other ones for your mitts) and they generate heat for up to 8 hours. I’m sure there are various brands out there that all work fine. They make the difference between a half hour of skiing and having to come in cold and crying or staying out happily all day.

    Have fun!

      kristin
      January 6, 2015 at 2:48 PM

      Thank you, Elizabeth!!! I appreciate the tips so much!

Trinda
January 5, 2015 at 8:41 AM

I love your winter pictures! Beautiful. Also, I’d like to access your recipes but the menu on the left of your blog doesn’t seem to have links. Is it me??



Rhett
January 5, 2015 at 1:16 PM

What a fun holiday you and your family have had! I’m so glad you put your “white spaces” thoughts into words for us to read. I want the same things for my boys. I learned to ski in Georgia (yes, Georgia!) when I was 15 and didn’t do it very often. I’m now a tentative skier who has never skied trees but really wants my boys to learn early and have so much fun. Henry is already way out skiing me! Maybe I’ll become a more adventurous, better skier because of him.



Trbholt
January 6, 2015 at 12:12 PM

A lesson for life…”To fall gently. To fall hard. To feel what they feel. To hurry. To take their time. To do it again. To stop when they feel like it’s time to stop”….love you and you mothering Burb…
xoxo, Mom



Emily
January 6, 2015 at 2:39 PM

I just read a quote in Marie Claire that has been sticking with me, “If I had focused on the roadblocks, how would I have seen the road?” So glad you continue to come back to writing and inspire us all. Thank you for sharing this lovely essay.



Kailey
January 6, 2015 at 5:54 PM

I have been reading your blog for several years now and I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your words. I am sure it must be hard to find time to write, but your posts are always my favourite to read. Your writing is so beautiful and thoughtful and blends deeper lessons and meaning with your own stories so well without ever coming across in the wrong way. You are an amazing writer and thank you for sharing your stories!



Ellie
January 6, 2015 at 7:47 PM

lovely. thank you.



Lynn Donaldson
January 9, 2015 at 10:11 PM

Your last paragraph blows me away. Beautiful! Thank you. Love your blog.



Sara Jakobs
January 22, 2015 at 4:48 PM

This is my favorite post of yours (and i back read the whole entire blog when my now 3 year old was a sleepless infant!)
You just put into words everything that i want and hope and dream for my girls..to see between the obsticles..

Xo
Sara



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