I have a love/hate relationship with those giant water slides, especially the ones that go straight down. The hate side is easy. They’re terrifying. At 46, I’m too old to be up there, teetering on the edge, staring down a steep drop that makes my heart race and my palms sweat. Sitting on the top of the slide, ready to plunge, I question my sanity. What am I doing here? I could be relaxing by the pool, enjoying a cold drink, instead of subjecting myself to this self-inflicted torture.
Royal art, with its grand portraits and stately sculptures, usually strikes a note of seriousness and tradition. Yet, hidden in the corners of museums and palaces are playful and childish works of creativity that show a lighter side of royalty. This post delves into the world where royal decorum meets whimsical mischief.
London, April 27, 2024, 7 PM
On an average day, when I pause to ask myself where I am and what time it is, I get back the following:
New York: 40°46’30.9″N latitude, 73°59’07.4″W longitude, with a time of GMT-5.
Those coordinates make my existence seem so random, so routine. But today was different. Today, we were heading to a place that felt like the very center of standardized space and time.
London, April 27, 2024, 7 PM
At first, I thought I was stepping into a world of high culture, of high tea, which many of us think of as posh and elite. But in reality, high tea is a working-class meal, hearty and robust, eaten at the end of the workday. It turns out I was going for afternoon tea. Afternoon tea is the high culture one. It’s all about elegance and light bites—think scones and tiny sandwiches, eaten in the late afternoon.
London, April 26, 2024, 7 PM
I enjoyed Stonehenge far more than I expected. When I first glimpsed it from the highway, it didn’t strike me as anything special—just a cluster of old stones set against the vast, open landscape of Salisbury Plain. But as I walked closer, my perspective shifted dramatically. The site wasn’t just a collection of rocks; it was a portal to a deep and ancient world.
We just got back from a skiing vacation. Skiing is a bit of a non-intuitive vacation. Why would a person want to spend their hard-earned money and vacation time in a cold, physically punishing environment? For the challenge. The challenge in skiing is commonly thought to be pushing your body to its limits in harsh conditions, but the real challenge is to ignore all of the distractions and mindfully focus on the mountain.
Every ski resort has its unique personality and charm, something we’ve come to appreciate through our experiences at different locations. From the laid-back, family-friendly vibes of Steamboat, known as “America’s Ski Town,” to the simple luxury and high-end skiing at Beaver Creek, complete with heated walkways and fresh cookies served every day at 3 PM, we thought we had seen it all. However, nothing quite prepared us for the rugged, unspoiled beauty of a hardcore ski mountain like Snowbird, Utah.
Over the MLK weekend, I found myself in the middle of a gorgeous forest, hurtling down the mountain and conquering nature. Then I realized I was participating in a weird bourgeois endeavor: luxury adventure. There I was, savoring the exhilaration and conquest typical of adventurers, yet insulated from any real risk. I realized that skiing is part of a larger luxury adventure movement, epitomized by the commercialized expeditions to Mount Everest’s summit, where ventures have shifted from pioneering exploration to a form of commodified conquest.
I have officially become a Grumpy Old Man.(1)Try to read this piece in Dana Carvey’s Grumpy Old Man voice. It’s too easy for people to find things online. Back in my day, things were different. People should work hard to discover things. Kids today can just Google things online and pull it up right away. There’s no adventure anymore. There’s no joy in the hunt.
Footnotes
| ↑1 | Try to read this piece in Dana Carvey’s Grumpy Old Man voice. |
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When things get boring, I try to add some dramatic flair to everyday activities to spice them up. When I worked at Citibank, I’d picture myself as an adventurer. I’d imagine I was a quest to solve a large complicated problem, getting clues from various people on the way. Sometimes I’d come across a treasure chest with some tool in it. I wouldn’t know exactly what the tool was for, but I’d file it away in my toolbelt for later use. I didn’t do it every day, but something fun came up every month or so. It made daily tasks more interesting and provided motivation for my team. I learned that I can add excitement and drama to things that aren’t inherently interesting by changing the way I look at them.
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