In the mountains...

Last time we were here it was just Nicole and I.  We'd stumble out of bed at 10:30am or so, throw on some sweats, and shuffle over to the nearest Starbucks; before we had them anywhere but in British Columbia.  We'd sit there sipping our lattes thinking and chatting some about what our life might end up being like.

Fast forward ten years...

And you get the same square in the same village with the same girl except now she's holding your youngest son, and the both of them are smiling like they've not a care in the World, the sun and the fall colors agreeing with them. 

Then as Mommy and the babies window shop--and 'shop' they did stopping in store after store after store--Daddy wanders up-village a block or two and see this...

Pretty nice right?

I think they call it the Garibaldi range, the family of mountains of which Whistler and Blackcomb are a part.

That's where we've been kicking it the last couple days.

Whistler...

And every bit of enjoyment is payback for the five hour flight then three hour drive (they're rebuilding the sea-to-sky highway for 2010) with four kids.

They were great though.

But the reason I'm blogging on this--other than that the shots are bound to look cool on SFS's black background--is because of the 'moment' when I came out of the village Starbucks with four kids' hot chocolates in my hand, and a pumpkin scone, and a piece of low-fat banana chocolate chip cake for the six of us to share.

It all washed over me then.  The passage of time.

It feels like yesterday that it was just Niki and me.

And here's the point.

Everywhere we looked today we were surrounded by our peers.  The ski-bums and ski-bunnies. Aussies and Seattle-ites and young Canadians, all congregated here because it's a time warp.  A resort destination where adventure-buffs come to while away their youth.

But the thing is, your youth is fleeting.  You're going to blink and it'll be gone.  And you'll either be looking scruffy and unwashed, sitting in the Whistler Village square scratching at three days growth, staring at young women's lululemon ensconced bums passing by or you'll be strolling with your babies wondering where the time's gone and thinking your wife's bum looks mighty nice in them lululemon pants...

And sure, those ski-dudes spend some wonderful days--I'm sure--up on the glacier, riding unblemished snow and loving life and I'd love to be them for a day or two, not a care in the World, all of life a playground.  But then I'd hear my wife's voice in my head, "What do these people do that they can buy three hundred dollar jackets and designer boots and high-fashion sun glasses and tights?"

"Well, they've got no kids and no car and no house and..."

No life.

I mean, they've got a life.  A fun life.  

But it's a certain kind of life--one that has certain kinds of rewards.

And I'm all for it, if it's what you want.

Just make sure you don't get so entranced by the 'lure' of a certain way of life that you don't take the time to really think about who you've been made to be and what that means in terms of the life you ought to be pursuing.

'Cause them mountains are so gorgeous you could blink and spend a lifetime up here.

But life would be going on down in the valley.

And you gotta' know where you're meant to be.

That's all.

Be where you're meant to be.  Know it.  Love it.  Live it.

T