Last weekend I went on a dreamy winter adventure. We rented a house with a lot of family up in the mountains of New Hampshire to celebrate my step-dad’s birthday.
Fresh snow was falling the whole drive up, and by the time we arrived, a few inches fell on Littlefield, NH.
The snow-covered land was painted with possibility. And with my snowboard gear packed, I was ready to explore as much possibility as time allowed.
When we pulled up to the house, I immediately saw a downward sloping area that looked rideable. It dipped into the woods and went who knows how far.
Despite a glorious spread of food and alcohol, I suited up to ride the snow before it became too dark. For a few seconds, I was floating down a hill on cushion of powder. It was heaven.
Then, I was hiking back up, struggling to make it through deep snow. I walked to the top and wondered, “What’s next?”
I took one more run and called it a night.
The ski conditions on Saturday were incredible. The sun was out, there was fresh snow on the ground. There were jumps galore, spacious glades and plenty of carving to be done. The day was everything I wished it would be and more.
When we left on Sunday, we drove by hills upon hills. Farms with open fields covered in snow just waiting for someone to take a run through the untouched powder.
But why was I still wanting?
What could be hidden there that I couldn’t find yesterday?
This question puzzled me. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I had no idea what I was looking for in all of this snow.
Then I realized, the adventure is the point. The possibility is magic in itself. A new hill is a fresh canvas. A river could turn into a gap to jump over. No matter how big the jump or how much air I got, I would never change as a person. But the adventure was the point. The adventure is always the point.