… and I will fly 400 more.

When I visited Salt Lake City during the summer of 2016, I was invited to return the following winter to see what the fuss was about regarding Utah snow. By invited, I mean “you will be coming, figure it out.” OK then. Plans didn’t really come together until January, but in mid February, I found myself driving to Lewiston one Friday morning to start my weekend.

Two days on snow, one powder, one packed down groomers. One hill, both days very enjoyable. Wait, no. They were terrible. There were wolves. Don’t go to Snowbasin, I’m told, I really should just go to Snowbird instead.

Or at least, that is the story to be told. Despite the price tag, the accommodations, and the connections to Sun Valley, Snowbasin is a local hill and the locals like to pretend they can keep it that way. That isn’t to say the place isn’t friendly; I was welcomed and spent two days happily bombing along on genuine Costello skies, caring only about what the next run would bring.

I am very privileged to have the ability to run off for a weekend of skiing like this, and fortunate to be able to ignore most of the world, even for a little while. Reality could wait a day or two, this was a vacation. I have good friends, a good job, and a good life. For that, I am grateful.

Never under-appreciate the value of a comfortable life—most people don’t get one.