The Gold Mine

Sun Valley, Idaho was built on silver mining. Then later, in the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s on skiing and the glitz and glamour of hollywood movie stars, writers, and the elite. This is a valley of black diamond ski runs, massive estates, boutique shopping, celebrity sightings, fine dining, golf, fly fishing, hunting, guided tours, cycling, and hiking. All of these done with the casual ease and glow that only money, lots and lots of money, can engender.

Sun Valley includes the town and resort of Sun Valley, the older town of Ketchum downstream towards Bald Mountain and south winding along the Big Wood River through the valley to the town of Hailey and Bellevue. During the last presidential election a commentator said about Idaho “It doesn’t get much redder than that”. Sun Valley, on the contrary, with its money, sophistication and isolation from the rest of the State is a vein of blue in this very red land. On September 11, 2005 the Dalai Lama visited Wood River High School in Hailey and gave a speech on understanding and friendship. That is the sort of crowd Sun Valley draws.

Just behind all that blue and alpine glow is a distinguishable group of people (most of whom are also blue in their political leanings) who run the stores, serve the food, operate the lifts, groom the trails, lead the tours, and in many cases truly access deep into the valleys and peaks of this area. They are the working-blue and they rub elbows with the tourists, the estate owners, and the trust-funders. When their more asset rich brethren evacuate their estates, vacate their condo’s or resort rooms and head back to the coasts and big cities the working-blue remain during the transition period between tourist seasons known as “slack”.

One the most unique places in the Valley is the Gold Mine. The Gold Mine isn’t swank or posh. The Gold Mine is a Thrift Store, a Salvation Army, Sun Valley style. The Gold Mine only accepts donations, no selling or consignments. All all proceeds from The Gold Mine help fund the Ketchum community library located one block away. The unique demographic and activities of the valley - from skate skiing and fly fishing to black tie events and monster estate building - means you can find almost anything at the Gold Mine. If you can’t find it at the Gold Mine you don’t need it.

I went prospecting at the Gold Mine yesterday. The front of the store is full of racks of donated designer label clothing for men, women and children. I squeezed through the cluttered front of the house to the rear where the scene is repeated but with ski clothing, helmets, shelves of boots, poles, books, tennis rackets, scattered electronic equipment, golf clubs, tapes and dvd’s. If you can’t find it at the Gold Mine you don’t need it.

In the very back of the house is tangled lawless snarl of used ski’s. Poking around this corral of possibilities I found what I was looking for. After thirty minutes I struck gold with a pair of year old 193 cm Rossignal FreeRide double X’s complete with Look bindings for 25 bucks.

During my ski shopping I was joined by, among others, two middle aged women clad in full-length fur coats. If this were any other Salvation Army style thrift store you would expect ladies in fur coats to be accompanied by the shopping cart they live out of. Not here. These women had obviously payed full price for their fashionable hides. And now they were scavenging for an old pair of skis mixing it up with me.

A Certain Uncertainty

I cracked the spine of my 2008 Moleskin pocket calendar for the first time this morning. We’ve all crossed over from one year to the next. The Time Square ball has dropped, the numerous countdowns of bests and worsts are recorded, the noise makers are silent and the granted revelry kisses from the stroke of midnight are memory. Welcome to day one, morning one, 2008.

My pocket day calendar will accompany me throughout the year just as my previous calendars followed me through 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004... I use my calendars to record more than just appointments. I jot down thoughts for later writing, I note new words, capture quotes or interesting conversations I happen to overhear, register my hours of sleep, exercise, due dates, books read, birthday’s and shopping lists. My pocket calendars become the annotated capsule of my year.

In years past I bought my pocket calendar a month or two before each New Year. I did the same this year. Different from previous years, however, I didn’t open my 2008 version until this morning, day one, 2008. In previous years I opened them as a bought them and diligently got all my important dates for the upcoming year marked and included. This takes time and I’ve always set aside a morning to update all the important and critical information well before the big ball dropped marking the cross over from the old year to the new.

For the last decade I’ve crossed over this annual New Year bridge with irons in the fire. I’ve often hopped this yearly fence with elaborate to-do lists, deadlines and commitments. As a result I haven’t given the actual crossing much more thought than...”lets party” or “I’m staying in tonight because I’m on deadline” as noted in my new pocket calendar. All those events and deadlines following me from one year to the next has made them mesh and fold into one another with a certain certainty.

This year, like few others in my history, is distinctly different. This year, it seems, I’m carrying less of this certainty of events, deadlines and commitments over the threshold of one year and into the next. Rent, insurance...and that’s it. This was made clear to me this morning in the basement room of my brothers home in Sun Valley, Idaho when I opened my 2007 calendar for the last time and my 2008 calendar for the first time. I transfered one or two pass-codes and viola! I was finished.

As I look out at the day, weeks, and months of the year ahead nothing is set. Nothing is set and everything is possible.

Starting my year with this certain uncertainty is a little unnerving. But that is only because it has been so long since I’ve allowed myself to live authentically in this space. As such this certain uncertainty is also overwhelmingly satisfying. I find that unlike other years I’m not bound to think or act within a constrained set of parameters. Instead of spoiling over what needs to be done and how to get most effectively from point A in 2007 to point B in 2008 my thoughts are opening to possibilities not possible within tyranny of hard schedules that bound my thinking for such a long time.

At one level I’ve carried less from one year to the next. At another I’m wheeling in much much more. I find this level of uncertainty allows me to think back and coalesce whole swaths of my life experience in very tangible ways. It is a whole life I’m taking into 2008 not simply the top ten list from 2007 or the list carry-overs from 2007 I’ve got scheduled for the months ahead.

I sat at the Ketchum Grill bar last night on New Year’s Eve with my sister-in-law, Ann. She asked me what I was looking forward to in 2008. I thought about travel, work, commitments represented as items on a spread sheet, expectations tied to a pay check or a status report, production calendars, and to-do lists. With a sort of odd surprising delight I told her, nothing. I’m not looking forward to anything in 2008. This Certain Uncertainty felt wildly liberating. I donned a festive party hat and gave a “toot” on a New Years party horn!

And why not. The certainty of a list of events pre-registered in my calendar hasn’t gotten where I want to go and hasn’t provided any of the certainty that truly enriches my life. Certainty of events hasn’t ever pointed to or defined how a year in the life of Eric Mason actually panned out. Certainty of a crowded calendar chronicled the deadlines but there was less and less life held within those accomplishment each year. Certainty never told me what my year would look like or how fruitful a year I’d have. The years stacked up. The certainty of events along with the increasingly insurmountable and complex set of to-do lists became the navigational compass, the point, the end.

This year I’m starting differently. I’m carrying nothing into 08; no appointments, no to-do lists, no spreadsheets, no job, no fear, no regrets over what wasn’t accomplished in my 2007 book. The job will come as it is intended. The appointments will come as they always do. I’m going to avoid making a to-do list as long as possible. I want to let the uncertainty of each day unfold guided not by the deadline but the thoughtful process. The rest will fall into place. Of that I am certain.