He pulls his beer out of the snow and takes a sip before holding it to his cheek.
I’m lost in my mind, thoughts racing, thinking about his comments, my ideas, our interaction, this situation, life..
“Man, I guess it’s just life,” he says.
“I live a good life. Compared to some. But who am I to compare. Who am I to measure my life to someone else’s? The kids in Africa. The ghetto’s across the States. The sons of Wall Street tycoons. My life… It’s easy, it’s hard, it’s mine.”
Nodding, I wipe my hands with a towel before grabbing the joint he’s passing.
“I’m fortunate, blessed, grateful…”
Exhaling the smoke, it mixes with the steam as I look off into the distance to the snow capped mountains.
We’ve been sitting in the hot tub for a while now, relaxing, talking, catching up. One of the best feelings in the world is waking up early for a full day of fresh powder, opening the lifts and shutting them down before retiring to hot tub to talk about life. Throw in a joint and some beers and it’s it.
But it’s not. For now, it’s life, a life few people get to enjoy, respectively, yet soon we will be back to real life.
Exhale, both deep thoughts and thick smoke.
I pass it.
“I think we’re meant to be lost. That’s life. We’re lost but so are the people in Mississippi. Or Harlem. Or Africa. Or Manhattan. We’re all lost, trying to find our way. Our way is just paved differently. Or unpaved, similarly…”
“Who actually knows their way?”
I shake my head, still staring off at the setting sunset over the expansive mountain horizon.