Conditions Report
Report from Sunday, December 21, 2025
Sometimes, when the mood hits just right, or the moon is in the correct position, or my chakras align, or my heart opens, or whatever you wanna call it—
I get overwhelmed with this sort of existential feeling that is borderline too much to handle.
But it’s not dread, or fear, per se.
Yeah, it is a bit terrifying for sure.
But it’s almost like a sort of joy;
beauty, if you will.
But it’s like, a painful beauty—
piercing.
One that is almost too much;
like my chest can’t contain it.
Like if I stare right into it I’ll burn my retinas.
But yeah, it turns out, there’s actually a phrase for just this feeling in French.
L’appel du vide.
Literally translating to, “the call of the void.”
An irrational pull towards the edge of existence.
Beauty mixed with terror, awareness of being alive.
The closest English word to this would likely be “sublime,” which is a beauty so overwhelming that it exceeds comprehension and borders on terror or pain.
Sometimes while or after skiing, this sublime feeling has its way with me.
Many of us have felt it, right here on Alta’s storied slopes:
Those powder days that are burnt into your mind when the conditions aligned perfectly with just the right friends on just the right day with just the right, specific frequency that tears open your heart and just makes you giggle and laugh and feel like a little kid playing in the powder.
That, is joy.
That, is what hooked us all into skiing in the first place.
And that, is divine.
Today, after skiing Alta with some old friends, I heard the call of the void.
It was the winter solstice and we skied until the sun went down, which was right on last chair on Collins.
The sun, like an orange, plump droplet, swelled and sank over the mountains to the west, leaving in its wake a gold-plated sky that erupted in heavenly fury.
Seeing that, I knew it was going to be a good winter ahead.
And I could give a damn checking if the forecast confirmed that or not.
Then I skied down to my car in silence.
I stopped for an espresso at Snowbird to say hi to a friend who wasn’t there.
Then I got home and ate dinner and showered and reflected on my day.
Then the phone rang.
Not a real phone.
But an inner call.
One that at first was faint, but then slowly rang louder and louder until it was a deafening blare:
Don’t take any of this for granted.
This beauty;
this pain—
these incredible souls who you call your friends and family
let alone get to ski with.
They will all die one day.
So will you.
So ski it while you can—
preferably at Alta.
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