Sitting on my ass in the snow is theraputic. I can feel the snow hitting the back of my jacket, and as I peer over the rims of my goggles I see the mountain dive into the village below, surrendering to gravity, pressure and time.

I hear the wind, metal and fiberglass on ice, creaks of the lift and trees groaning as they grip the earth with their wooden hands. I see children with their parents, lovers, married couples, grandpas and grandmas, all dressed up — puffy versions of who they really are.

And in my frozen state the rest of the world is actually melting away in its own light. I stand up, twist, and shoot down the mountain.

Problems slowly condense in my mind and slide out. With each cut in the snow my knees weaken but my heart beats faster, my face pulses harder, and I find a little bit of myself with each pass. I look up the hill, I see Kelly, Kai, Kimo, Mom, and I pretend for a little while like this is everyday. This is every time.

It felt like home, for a little while.