Heaven is Park City in the Winter

Two years ago, I lived in Park City, Utah for the ski season. I'd only been skiing a few times when I was younger (expensive for a Floridian unit of six, and we preferred wrangling everyone to return to family places instead), but decided that I wanted to do a ski season out West.

I love O'ahu, and it fits me and my needs really well. Firstly, I love anywhere that has its own personality and anthropomorphism, a hallmark of my favorite cities and areas. It's gorgeous and creative and gets me out of my head in a necessary way. It's near water, crucially. (I could do without this if I loved somewhere enough, but it is a preference.) O'ahu is a home for me. (Side note: I tend to pitch my book about being a love letter to the places we return to.)

Why I Chose to Live in Park City

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1. I was living in Manhattan that fall and knew I couldn't (or rather, severely didn't want to) do winter in the city. Everyone I talked to about it said, "Yes, go!"
2. I was working a fixed-term contract with a weekly paycheck, so I knew I could afford to try it. (Although my financial situation is good while freelancing, I'm much more careful about taking on higher recurring expenses while doing so. I paid more for rent in Park City than I did in NYC.)
3. I'm happiest when I can get outside every day.
4. Skiing culture sounded so glamorous. I loved the exhilaration of skiing when I'd done it before. Aesthetically, I loved the atmosphere and knew from O'ahu that I really enjoyed the culture in transient places too. So ski town living was absolutely on my bucket list.
5. I looked at Jackson, Wyoming (where some best friends live) too and considered that for how easy it would be socially, but housing in Park City opened up first. I was one of dozens of applicants for a room and had to interview and everything. So when they chose me, the decision was made.

Park City also happens to be close to the airport, more densely clustered—so I could hit the slopes after work, and it was one of two ski areas I'd been to before (the other being Big Sky, Montana.) So it was at least slightly familiar. Plus, I do love the SLC airport.

My Housing in Park City

I'm very stubborn about housing anywhere, being that most places I've lived so far are highly in-demand. So I'm used to the muscle memory of checking Zillow, Airbnb, Facebook roommate groups, etc,. daily for months before I know I'm moving somewhere. If you're in that boat, start checking the listings long before you think you need to. (Luckily, I'm all settled into my current spot with no plans to leave, but even getting this one was stressful.)

I rented a guest room in a family home in Jeremy Ranch—overlooking the golf course, which converted to a cross-country skiing circuit in wintertime—from January 3 to April 3.

I paid $1,900 a month for that room (bedroom + en-suite bathroom) which was the most I'd ever spent on rent before but I justified it by calling it a three-month vacation of sorts. I never get actual vacation time because of my current business structure, but make it work by getting to visit and relish beautiful places while working.

RELATED: A Week at Somos in Santa Teresa, Costa Rica

The pricing was similar (and even a deal) in comparison to costs in the area, but the house itself was swanky and gorgeous (with stunning panoramic views), and I wasn't paying utilities (which are a lot in winter) either.

There was a hot tub, and I'd never expected to get that lucky. The listing made it sound like it was closer to the bus stop, which made transportation frustrating, especially at the beginning; that first week was brutal.

I won't go into too much detail about the housing dynamic itself because the person I rented from ultimately seemed like she didn't really enjoy having an Airbnb guest in her house at all, so it got much tougher for me to live there without feeling like a major burden, even as a shadow.

I've done shared situations before and had a perfectly fine time. As a resident, I'm quiet and respectful and clean and deferential, don't bring the party home, am literally a writer, etc,. so would like to think I'm pretty easy—which is why they chose me to live with them in the first place. But as their first long-term guest, I did often feel like I was walking on eggshells, and so ended up not writing a review. I wasn't entirely sure what I'd say. It was a good situation, for the most part, but there was also a lot that was unpleasant too.

So next time, I'd live somewhere else, but also loved that house, that situation, that season, etc,. I love seasonal living, but it's always bittersweet for me knowing I'll never duplicate an exact set of circumstances again. I've gotten better at recognizing temporary beauties for what they are.

My Work Situation & Schedule in Park City

At the time, I was working a full-time contract for Dotdash Meredith, a magazine publisher in NYC, and the team was fully remote. I was technically freelancing for them, but on a 9-to-5 schedule in renewing terms of six months. I put in a year there and enjoyed the structure of it a lot.

For living in Park City though, the structure was absolutely perfect. That was the best work-life balance I've ever had, and maybe my favorite schedule too. (The only other format that might beat it out was my schedule as a summer camp counselor.) It hit all of my favorite values, every day.

5 A.M. / Work in room to the light of the sunrise lamp. Tiptoe out to kitchen for a coffee. Around sunrise, nervously open curtains. If it's a powder day, feels like Christmas.

7 A.M. / Move to the dining table to work once the family left.

12 P.M. / Lunch break of some kind. Probably a turkey wrap.

2 P.M. / Send off any stories, wrap up any formatting or production, etc,. Change into ski gear and call car for arrival at 2:30-ish.

3 P.M. / Get to ski resort.

“This is to say nothing against afternoons, evenings or even midnight. Each has its portion of the spectacular. But dawn — dawn is a gift. Much is revealed about a person about his or her passion, or indifference, to this opening of the door of day. No one who loves dawn, and is abroad to see it, could be a stranger to me. — Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays”

As a morning person, I loved starting work early and being done early. My work can get frustrating in feeling like I spend so much time on a screen in "deep work" mode. If I go all day (which I still do often because of my hopeful book deal and stubborn ambition), I'd look up and feel like I'd done nothing. Whereas getting outside or active and having such tangible exposure to beauty made my time expand. It made my days feel full and meaningful and settled in such a significant way.

That's something I love about O'ahu too. I can get up with the sun, work until early afternoon, then go surf or hike or be social or get outside. I'm much happier in that mode then in a traditional 9-to-5.

If I lived on Pacific time, I'd try to work approximately Eastern hours. If I did Hawai'i time, I'd try to work approximately Pacific hours. Etc,. etc,. Starting at 5 A.M. does feel early, admittedly, but 6 A.M. (or even 7 A.M.) is fantastic.

I worked from 5 A.M. to roughly 2:30 P.M., at which point I either called the free High Valley Microtransit for a ride or—if it was a powder day and the lines were too long—I'd cave and call an Uber to take me to Canyons, half of Park City Mountain Resort, which was about 15-20 minutes away.

And Then I'd Hit the Slopes

I'll definitely write more about ski gear and the literal sensations and routes of being out there daily. While and since living in Park City, I've had the privilege of reviewing ski jackets, writing for women-centered publications focused on breaking down the intimidation of the outdoor scene, visiting and writing about alpine destinations, etc,. My recent return to Park City in early December was one of my favorite trips I've ever taken (and I can't wait to write about it more.)

I never anticipated loving and connecting to skiing in Park City so much largely because I never thought of myself as a winter person (I have a literal sun tattoo for that reason), but relishing skiing psychologically makes sense for what makes me feel happiest and most connected. Obviously, it's a luxury experience that many would love to have, but it was so much more too.

I feel like I opened up a whole new half of my year. I thought I was a seasonal person in that I actually just couldn't enjoy winter without skipping it entirely. But the revelation that I can love winter just as much as summer entirely changed me.

I loved so much about skiing every afternoon:

• Skiing taps into the flow states and sense of mastery that make me happiest. You never ski a run the exact same way.
• The challenge and hardship inoculation of getting better or tackling a scary part of the mountain.
• The balance between solitude and connection—going outside alone every day and relishing the independence, but also feeling connected to everyone on the mountain doing the same thing (and happy to be there.)
• The awe and beauty of the mountains, and seeing them every day. We are so close to such majesty, in the corniest way possible.
• I'm convinced the wind and freshness and snow make you just feel alive.
• The contrast of sensation: hand-warmers when you're so cold you want to cry, a hot shower after a hard workout, the gratification of soreness the next day, etc,.
• The adrenaline and endorphins, obviously.
• The sense of time expanding: how two hours on the slopes feels like a whole day. It slows down for me, which makes every day feel infinitely more satisfying.
• I do listen to music while I ski (open-ear or on low enough volume, promise) so also had that layer of sensory experience and appreciation for favorite songs, new songs, etc,.
• And people were friendly on the lifts and all, so you could make it more of a social experience if you want to.
• The comfort of routine: I knew exactly which pattern of lifts to take if I got there by 2:30 P.M. versus if I got there at 3 P.M. And it was such a thrill to just barely make a lift you wanted before last chair. My brain was constantly mapping out my route in such a gratifying way.

Of course, all those factors coincided to make skiing Canyons every afternoon just the absolute best. But it felt pretty simple when I hopped off the chairlift and rolled straight into a run (probably blue, a cruiser, with lots of little side trails and a pretty view, knowing my taste.)

Everything about going down the mountain just felt so visceral and alive. And the pleasure of slicing through fresh powder? Giddy. I probably felt most connected to nature out in the mountains on those days than anywhere else.

I was so motivated and inspired to get out there every day. I also tend to be pretty forward-thinking and convinced I need to be as extraordinary as possible in my achievements as soon as possible, so I think living there and skiing daily was probably the best possible decision I could have made to make me relax more and relish being in-the-moment, etc,. I was so grateful then, and so grateful now for the experience.

(I recently read The Molecule of More which talks about how our wanting and pleasure systems are fundamentally different because of dopamine, and it entirely explains the science behind why I felt this way.)

After, Après, Hot Tub, Early

And I loved the aftermath of skiing too. That last run always felt sad but satisfying. I'd hit the bottom of the mountain, shuck my skis onto my shoulders, and clomp to the middle of the village, where I'd either try my luck for a High Valley Microtransit or settle into the après scene by the fire with my (thankfully waterproof) eReader to read until the commuter traffic slowed down. Maybe with a pilsner, maybe not. I might snag groceries from the marketplace to take home. I got so much reading done that season.

by the fire

When finally back, I'd shake out my boots in the garage, put up my gear, load up on electrolytes, and snag a towel from my room to creep down to the hot tub on the back deck. Maybe with a hot chocolate in tow.

I miss the smell of chlorine, the jets unwinding my sore muscles, the whiteout skies or the weird blue from a sky that'd suddenly cleared, the satisfaction of finishing my book. The small flecks of snow that might flurry onto my back. The warm sleepiness that'd come over me. (I've never been a great sleeper, but my habits were probably best there because of the hours I worked, exact level of exertion, and genuine relaxation.)

I think a hot tub might be the shortcut to happiness. Add in a sunset and—bliss.

Eventually, I'd force myself out and go shower for real. Make a Hungryroot (the best) dinner for one and settle in for an early bedtime. It was absolute bliss, and even writing about how much I got from that season makes me long to go back at some point. It'll happen at some point, and even a few days there recently made me feel so connected and at peace.

I could duplicate the schedule here too, and surfing scratches a similar itch in some ways, but it's just a little less controllable. Wave conditions have so much more to do with whether I can go out into the ocean at all, and swimming tired is more dangerous than deciding to take a green run at the last minute because you're actually way more wiped than you expected.

Plus, there's something about knowing that the lift closes at 4 P.M. that kept me efficient with my work while in Park City. On O'ahu, I'm a little more likely to let my ambition bleed.

Still, the values are the same: the pursuit of mastery, nature, presence, gratitude, sensory pleasure, a satisfying schedule, solitude without loneliness. The beauty and significance of a singular place. Park City does feel like a home now, and definitely one I'll return to at some point, whether cyclically, in small doses, or for a longer stint at one point.

And now I have an entirely new season to love.

A Partial Scrapbook

morning coffee in the base layers

flurries

the uniform, of course

two roads diverged in a [snowy] wood

a ski patrol puppy baby

bumps

this bar was playing Travelin' Soldier during happy hour, which was certainly a choice

this view

powder day incoming

squinty reunions!

down the mountain

nature's cooler

the best writing spot

the best spot for everything else

Complement with literary musings on the transcendence of nature, the comforts and necessity of quiet exploration, the contrasts of sensation that make pleasures earned, and, of course, an explanation of how and why we process experiences like this the way we do—in the books linked below.