Being fearless: My first solo ski run

This ski season, I conquered my fear of the chair lift,
made my first solo ski runs and started parallel skiing.

My heart beating wildly, I skied toward the chair lift for my first solo ride to the top of the mountain. I was determined to conquer my fear of falling to my death from the chair lift. For more than three decades, this irrational fear had kept me from skiing again.

"Can you do this?" my 55-year-old experienced brain asked my timid, 19-year-old self. That unsure  teenager was the one who had nearly fallen off the lift all those years ago.

I'd been standing to the side for several minutes, gathering my courage and watching skiers and boarders approach the lift, sit down and ride calmly to the top. Plenty of athletic young adults did it, but so did middle-aged folks and even grandmas and grandpas.

Yet, I was still gripped with fear from my first time skiing--in 1979--when I'd been dragged up the chair lift by my boyfriend, who didn't seem to care that I didn't know how to turn, control my speed or stop. I nearly fell off the chairlift, and then tumbled all the way down the mountain, hollering. My sister, Judy, who was working at the ski resort, recognized my screams of terror.

After that horrifying experience, the fear of falling off the lift was ingrained in my brain. It was the timid, teenage me who still held onto that fear.

I was brought back to the present when a group of elementary school kids zoomed down the hill in front of me, laughing, and got on the lift. None of them faltered, let alone plummeted to their death.

"Can you do this?" I asked myself again.

But this time, it was not the timid, 19-year-old me I asked. It was the adventurous 55-year-old me. Now I'm the dragon boat paddling, zip lining, kayaking, belly dancing, bow-shooting, backpacking woman with the dragon tattoo.

And thanks to the encouraging teaching of Kirby, my certified ski instructor boyfriend, I had been learning to ski. Although I had ridden the chair lift successfully just that morning, Kirby had ridden with me, coaching me and calming my fear with his soothing voice.

But now Kirby was teaching a skiing lesson and would be busy for the next hour. If I wanted to go skiing, I'd have to get back on that horse--er--chair lift--alone. It was time to conquer this irrational fear.

"Do you want to do this?" I asked myself.

My 19-year-old self was still tentative. But at that moment, I decided I would no longer let that timid girl or her fears control me.

"Yes! Be fearless!" my 55-year-old self said, with enthusiasm. "You're the girl with the dragon tattoo! Let's go!"

I skied forward, held my poles in my left hand and turned to grab the chair with my right hand. Then I sat down.

Miracle of miracles, I didn't fall.The timid teenage me might have closed my eyes for a nanosecond, but then I opened my eyes and looked at the beauty around me. As I approached the top, I could see the Wallowa Mountains blanketed in snow in the distance.

My heart began pounding again as I approached the top and prepared to exit the lift. I'd never exited the lift without Kirby. What if I fell when I stood up?

But then I remembered what Kirby had told me: "Stand up and ski to the right!"

I gulped--but did exactly as he'd instructed me. And I didn't fall!

My solo trip down the mountain was the opposite of my first ski experience all those decades ago. I was in control of my skis. I could slow down, turn and stop. I was having fun.

At one point, I stopped to admire the view. Then I looked down at my skis and realized I wasn't afraid anymore. I'm pretty sure I saw my 19-year-old self giving me a thumbs-up.

Smiling, I pushed off with my poles and glided down the mountain.

Seeking Sweet Sanctuary

Crash!

I  was awakened at 4 a.m. by the Dumpster lid being thrown open. Again.

Sometimes this occurs several times a night when people who are down on their luck rummage through my apartment building's enormous recycling and garbage bins searching for bottles and cans to redeem for cash. Perhaps they're even looking for food. That's sobering. Even heartbreaking.

But the bins are located immediately below my living room window, so mostly it's a nuisance.

When the crash woke me the first night in my apartment, my first thought was that someone had broken down my apartment door. Now that I've endured these nightly interruptions for three months, I just roll over and try to go back to sleep.

If I can't go back to sleep, I grab my laptop and write.

This morning I couldn't find sleep again. If I weren't so exhausted, I would be giddy. Today I am moving from this noisy apartment to my new home, which I refer to as the Duplex of my Dreams. Never did I believe a 1,000-square-foot duplex could be sanctuary to me.

Five months ago, I was a homeowner with a good job that paid a living wage. When I was laid off, I had to sell my house immediately before it became a short sale. A week before Christmas, I moved into this diminuitive one-bedroom apartment.

At the time, it was a sanctuary. I needed to move quickly, and of all the apartments I looked at, this one was clearly the best in my price range.

But I hadn't lived in an apartment for more than two decades, and the transition from quiet nights in a house to interrupted slumber in this apartment has taken its toll. Even with ideal sleep conditions, I am an insomniac. Most people likely could sleep through the noises that have robbed my sleep and frayed my edges. But I am a light sleeper.

After three months of o'dark thirty Dumpster action outside my front door and my oblivious, noisy neighbor whose television blares all night through our common bedroom walls, the sleeplessness has worn me out.

Now that I am working again, sleep is essential. So even though I will lose my hefty deposit, I am moving today to a quiet duplex in my old residential neighborhood sans Dumpster and noisy neighbors. The tenant on the other side of my duplex is an older single woman who owns a cat.

This apartment has its charms. Built in 1928, it has hardwood floors, French doors and a cozy gas fireplace. It's in the heart of a trendy commercial district with coffee shops, ethnic restaurants, antique stores and a tattoo parlor just across the alley from my living room windows.

If I were 25, this would be the ideal place to live. It has a great vibe and so much to do. The tattoo parlor is so close that I could get a tattoo practically by just sticking my arm out my window. Alas, I am not 25, and I don't want a tattoo. I just want to sleep soundly.

My new home also has charm. Built in the 1940s, it has hardwood floors, built-ins, windows for glorious natural light, a humongous kitchen, oodles of storage space and even a private, tiny backyard with a patio and garden space. My new sanctuary.

For the past three months, my cat, Anakin Skywalker, has been forced to be an indoor kitty. Now he can find his own santctuary by escaping the confines of the house to lie in the sun.

My new place is also within easy walking distance of this trendy neighborhood so I can have the best of both worlds: divine sleep, essential garden therapy and still being walking distance to my favorite coffee shop.

Last Saturday night, knowing it was the last weekend in my apartment, I took a farewell stroll through my trendy neighborhood to Ice Cream Renaissance, where I ordered my favorite: one scoop of Bittersweet Chocolate Love Affair ice cream on a sugar cone. It was the first ice cream I'd had in three months.

As I walked back to my apartment, I savored the flavor of the ice cream and my neighborhood. Because it was St. Patrick's Day, bagpipers wearing kilts were performing at Pop Culture. People had spilled onto the sidewalk to chat. I spied the owner of the Moroccan restaurant across the street listening to the bagpipes too.

Midway through my ice cream, I realized how amazing it has been to be a part of this neighborhood when I needed the sanctuary it offered. And how blessed I am to be able to move forward into my new sanctuary offering peaceful slumber and a garden to boot.

I took another lick of Bittersweet Chocolate Love Affair and walked home, dreaming of planting tomatoes, sunflowers and lavender.