Chasing the storm

Because there's nothing to hide from

Was it too much to ask to do this after 100 inches of snow fell in the Sierra? Cleary, yes, it was. PC: Lisa Slagle

This morning I parked my van on the side of a highway, plows passing by as they cleared the ~100 inches of snow that had fallen in the last four days. I pissed in a pot while I waited for the road to open and smoked a cigarette, noticing that most people around us were doing the same (the cigarette part, not the pissing in the pot—they were men, so…). We finally made it up to the mountain a few hours later, only to be greeted by gusty winds that shut down lifts and wind drifts that would swallow you.

Today was, by all counts, the biggest pow day fail. I worked almost 14 days straight to be able to take one day off to do the thing I love the most. But my expectations were out of line with the reality of the situation. Why I thought we’d ski the deepest powder when we knew the winds were raging at over 100mph for four days was foolish.

And yet I had a lovely day. Certainly, I’m grateful to be able to spend a day in the mountains, but it’s more than that. It was one of many opportunities this week to hone the skill of moving through the world with disappointment that doesn’t debilitate. A reminder, a little check, that things are rarely what you want them to be. The more we conjure up stories or hide from the truth, the harder it is to accept what’s right in front of us.

There’s always something to turn your head away from, isn’t there? This week I’ve been talking a lot with friends—even in the lift line, perhaps to the dismay of people waiting next to us—about the Flour Massacre in Gaza, which has been in part attributed to food scarcity, desperation, and lawlessness. This narrative reinforces the colonial rationale of saving the savages, who because of their uncivilized behavior, bring death and destruction onto themselves. These people are not dead because they are starving. They are dead because Israeli soldiers killed them. Because they aren’t valued as human beings. That’s why the Israeli military can haphazardly fire bullets into a crowd of people desperate for food: they don’t see the people of Gaza as people. And it took until March 3rd for the United States to call for a ceasefire.

Did I shout at my phone when I heard the “for six weeks” clause that seemed to unravel the significance of Kamala Harris calling for a ceasefire? Yes, I did. It would be yet another reason to completely disengage with politics, to think that our involvement is futile. But there exists some very clever people, like Ijeoma Oluo, who is urging us to vote uncommitted so that our votes are earned. She refuses to allow her vote to be complicit in genocide. I love this, the resistance of it, and using the system they created to hold them accountable. It’s quite clever and I hope effective. If not, it will be because the system is so broken—politicians don’t hold themselves accountable to the people who vote for them.

It’s easy to think that I play outside to escape the atrocities in the world, that it’s an escape. That’s not the case; quite the opposite, in fact. I do it to fill my well. I have learned that if I run it dry, I have nothing left to give. It’s not about chasing the things that make us feel good to avoid pain and disappointment, it’s about preparing and strengthening us for both.

I recognize there are people who don’t care, or stand in solidarity with the Israeli government, or for whatever reason don’t think they need to involve themselves in speaking out against a genocide. But I’m not talking to them, I’m talking to you. While so many of us are deep-diving past the headlines and into the full story on a daily basis, there are others who turn it off because it feels like too much or don’t talk about it because they’re afraid they will be too much. I hope together we can bring them along, tell them that they don’t have to hold the weight of the world on their shoulders, and remind them of the value of their voice.