I can’t stop thinking about the last time I saw David. It was my birthday, 2021. It was my first time visiting Montana and David had driven several hours to ski with my wife and I for a day at Whitefish.
It was a perfect day. Bluebird, fast in the morning and as it warmed up relaxed and social. Im not sure if it was the weather that made it that way or David.
David was a beautiful skiier. I grew up watching David ski - and I knew he was talented. He knew how to make the people around him better skiers and I think happier skiiers. Skiing behind him and Kailey, I watched her following his turns — knuckles almost grazing the corduroy, linking powerful, symmetrical turns. On the next chair, he cemented the unspoken lesson by complementing her turns.
What I can’t shake is the ride up we took on a fixed grip double. We talked about depression and pain. I talked about the moment between two linked ski turns — where G force swings from negative to positive. If you’ve never felt it before it feels like gravity gets heavier for a second then for an instant you’re floating, then the world’s weight crashes back on you.
David picked up on it instantly, calling it a moment of ‘liminal’ space. Like he actually used the word liminal on a ski lift, who does that? I had to look that up.
We chatted for a few seconds about how in that liminal moment pain gets lost. Or maybe that in-between space is completely empty so thought doesn’t exist there either. Or maybe it’s so full that your baggage spills over like an overflowing cup.
I said I feel like I’ve been chasing that weightlessness my entire life. David said he thought so too. We sat for the last few towers in silence.
We were parked in different parking lots. We promised each other one more run, and that we were skipping the last. See ya down the road. The laps were great. All that.