A sixty-eight year old man sat down next to me on the chairlift today and I'm not quite sure how the conversation started, but after it was over, I was inspired.
Some days I think about how it will turn out. I can never get too far unfortunately, I guess it's some sort of mental block of the future. I like thinking in the present, or at least I think I like it. When I look at my methodology of thinking I guess I see the present as a safety net for how I act. If I live in the present I won't have to worry about the future. And the future scares the shit out of me.
The sixty-eight year old man had told me that he had driven four hours that morning to be the on the first chair that rode up Killington that day. He spoke with the utmost charisma, an attribute that strikes a chord deep within me. He had this aura about him that made my eyes light up, and allowed me to truly feel what he was saying. He explained that he doesn't care how old he is, but if his legs work, he would be on the mountain. He explained to me that he had given away his right to vote that day, to come ski. This was no ordinary man, and no ordinary conversation. This man was a man that stood for so much more. He stood for passion, dedication, and inspiration. His gray, stringy hair, the wrinkles that lined his face, and the smile that stood in the middle of it, helped me see my future.
This man was how I saw myself in fifty years. He inspired me. He spoke for the mountains, and he spoke to me.
~Ryan
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