Paul and I have long suspected that we're not like other people. Not that we're smarter, or better, or anything. Just that our priorities and how we spend our time is a little different than our neighbors ... or maybe most of middle class America. We seem to be like many of our friends, not surprising, and given the places we work, like many of our co-workers. Recently we've been reminded that our lives are a little different from the norm.
About five weeks ago we arranged to meet some friends from Talkeetna to catch a matinee of Avatar. They wanted to come to Anchorage to compress some movie going into one weekend. Avatar had been here for over a month. On a beautiful, sunny February Saturday, we didn't imagine that many people would elect to spend the afternoon in a dark theater. We'd managed to fit in a bike ride early in the afternoon. So we were very surprised that the humongous parking lot at the theater was full. When we finally hiked over from the parking spot we found, we were shocked that the film was sold out. But we weren't disappointed. The film hadn't been high on our list to see. So we drove back home and Bhikkhu got a nice walk on a sunny afternoon.
Yesterday was my first chance to ski in weeks, and I was excited to ski on the 6" of snow we received a few days earlier. Paul is recovering from a sprained ankle so I headed alone to the municipal park nearby. We classical nordic ski. Based on the nordic ski club's trail priorities and the people usually passing us on the wide groomed trails, sometimes it seems like most of Anchorage skate skis. Yesterday the parking lot was full and I expected to share the trails and the best snow in weeks with a few of the 250,000 people in Anchorage. After I left the skate ski highway, however, I skied alone for the better part of an hour on a narrower classic only trail. I glided along through silent woods where fewer than a dozen people had skied in the past few days. Our decision to stick to classical skiing seems to be rewarded with solitude on the edge of the city.
We've also been reminded recently about something that's different when you live in Alaska -- the number of people who come and go. Except for college, I've never lived anywhere else where many of your friends are likely to move away. Some leave for better jobs, others to follow or find love, and young families often head out to be nearer to family. Last week our friend Shane came up from California to work a booth at a conference. We hadn't seen him since he, his wife, and their baby left 4 years ago. We've kept in touch via email but that doesn't replace hanging out around the house, walking in the woods, and enjoying good microbrew together. He stayed with us for a week. We caught up over long dinners and walking Bhikkhu every day.
We aren't going to the mall or the theater every Saturday afternoon and our meals are definitely more slow food than fast food. We are lucky to have friends who prefer the woods to the mall and meals of fellowship to the food court. Friends like that are friends forever, whether they live across town, up the highway, in California or Colorado or on the East coast. We're blessed to live in a place where we can pursue our life choices and find lifelong friends.
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