I feel like an actual writer / author, for I'm sitting here in my 2 Queen Bed hotel room in Copper Mountain typing words on my MacBook Pro. No music playing. Just the sounds of the snowmaker from outside, as today is opening day of ski season. I only wish I had a typewriter, for the words are coming fast thru me, and I so want to be able to push the knobbly thingy to the side as though I have just finished a masterpiece.
Or rather, a master peace.
I'm here in Copper Mountain for work. Yes, work. Behind-the-scences shooting members of the USA Ski Team. I just feel so blessed. I have a beautiful home. I just married my best friend a month ago. I can't get enough of my dog - he is just going to have to live forever. And I'm here in Copper Mountain for work. Life is good.
The reason I titled this post Peace... is because I actually feel as though I achieved a little bit this morning. I still awoke at my normal 5:30am. Fixed myself some coffee and watched my obligatory first 15 minutes of the TODAY show. I then set off for a morning walk/run. Hmmm, what to listen to while out on a solo run in the mountains, I pondered. Well, John Denver, of course. And yes, I have to admit it, I brought out the JD Christmas tunes. Not the most ideal running music, by any means, but when you're in the mountains, you listen to John Denver. Anyway, I digress. Yes...Peace... I found myself able to run longer than usual. I found myself wanting to go farther than usual. I found myself crying... Not out of sadness, but from the sense of peace that was wrapping around me. I was engulfed in the mountains, some (not much, mind you) snow on the ground, and the sun just coming up over the hills. And John Denver's 'Oh Holy Night' started playing. And I cried. I felt him. There, beside me, and all around me, I felt him. My dad.
It's very rare that I ever let myself think about my dad for too long of a time, and even more rare that I allow myself to cry from his absence. It used to be that once I started crying about him, it was very difficult for me to stop. So, I learned to push it all down, somewhere deep inside me. Call it numbness or a facade, but it proved to help me. But this morning, the mountains, John Denver, and the sun shining on my face, made me feel my dad's presence. And I cried. And I smiled. And for the briefest of moments, I felt at peace...