At 9,000 feet above sea level, Winter Park Colorado is one of the most captivating sights of my life. It’s a place that is silent, where fresh air fills your lungs, and elegant pine trees are everywhere, completely covered in crystalline snow. I had been here once before, and everything is the exact same, yet somehow, looks utterly unique. It is a sight one does not forget. Unfortunately, I could not admire it as long as I wished. Suddenly, I felt a jab to my back and heard the voice I had been hearing for the past 14 hours in the car.

“Let’s go, I need to get out of this car,” exclaimed Michael.

Michael is my younger brother. In most scenarios, he is fun to be around, and is a very vivacious sibling.  However, sometimes, he can be a little impatient, which would pretty much describe our lengthy car ride. Not a minute passed where we did not know how many minutes remained in the drive.

“Geez, I’m hungry,” muttered my older brother Eric, who was much more tranquil during the trip.

As I stepped out of the car, I felt the wispy breeze against my face. It was cool, and dry, which was much different from what it was a few hours ago. I gazed up and looked at the familiar small cabin that we often borrowed from good friends. When I walked in, I felt comfortable in a familiar space and prepared to sleep. That night, I went to bed anxious, for tomorrow, we would wake up early to ski.

For me, the most dreadful thing about going skiing is walking from the shuttle, to the chairlift or the lodge. The shuttle did not always drop us off in the perfect location, which meant a lengthy walk. With large, uncomfortable ski boots, and very cumbersome skis, minutes could be transformed into hours.

“Do we have our lift tickets yet?” I asked.
“No,” my father said, “we will have to get them while we are there.”
“Do you know how long that will take?” questioned Michael.
“Not long,” he answered.
Once we arrived at the lift and bought our tickets, we were ready to go. We got our skis on, and skated over to the lift.
Because we had lived in Colorado before Minnesota, and often came to visit, we were decent skiers. I had gone on the chairlift hundreds of times and never experienced a ride like the one I was about to take.
There are so many things that are troublesome about chairlifts. First, this was the longest lift because we were at the very bottom of the mountain. In addition, people always seem to have trouble getting on, it is cold, uncomfortable, and it is always stopping and starting. Unfortunately for this ride, it would stop, but not start. As the minutes dragged on, I lost my sense of time and all that I could do was wait. Finally, when I thought that I would be there forever, it started to move once more. There was not a better feeling that morning than arriving at the top of the mountain and seeing the end of the chairlift. Once we were all off, I had to indulge my curiosity.
"Why did that take so long?" I asked.

"Not quite sure," my father replied, "It must have been some mechanical problem."

We then continued on a small trail to get to our first hill. As I stood looking out, I was finally able to take in what was around me. I looked along the mountainside and saw an army of green pines, standing like soldiers in the fluffy white snow. The wind smelled fresh, and had a rhythmic and soothing tone. I then proceeded to look at my younger brother and saw that his face was in awe.
“Wow, that looks pretty steep, what level is it?” he asked.

“It’s got to be black,” Eric replied.

That’s steeper than I remember, I thought as I gazed down the mountain. Maybe we should have warmed up with an easier hill.

“It’s too late to go back to the green hills now,” interjected Michael as he read my thoughts.

At this point in my life I was only 10 years old, and I was relatively cautious. I would rather watch someone do something and then make an attempt rather than going first. For this reason, I waited, and allowed my older brother and father to start off down the hill. My lips were chapped, and my hands were cold, as I realised it was time. I walked up to the edge, and started down.

For the first few seconds, it was easy sliding down the hill. It was after that when I ran into trouble. The moguls just ahead proved to be tricky. They were compact and threw me all over the place as a tried to stay upright. It was only through good fortune that I was able to successfully pass them. As I looked back up the hill at my accomplishment, I felt connected with the mountain, as if it was showing me what really mattered.

It was at that moment when I reached the bottom of the hill that I realized what it meant to truly live in the moment. When I was walking to the lift, I was spending time with my family. When I was stuck on the chairlift, I saw the most beautiful sight of my life. I thought back as far as my mind could remember and wondered, how much have I been missing?