Bear with me while I take a shallow dip into the land of philosophical thinking. I hope this can serve as food for thought, if you’re hungry for it.

For context, my ski season began with an ambitious stretch of travel. It was both exciting and intimidating for someone who thrives on routine and the comfort of familiarity. It was largely focused on ski performance. The constant motion felt like it was building toward something that would validate the hard work of the previous training year.

But it didn’t.

After weeks of unexpectedly poor races, I found myself back in Montana, wondering how to give my nervous system and body a true reset after months of anticipation and internally constructed expectations. During this reset, I had a lot of time on my hands to think about stuff. All kinds of stuff, including my long-standing fascination with “sense of place.”

Wendall Berry says that "the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, arduous and humbling and joyful by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet and learn to be home."

I love the idea that learning to be home is a journey, one that comes from paying attention to what steadies you, what lights you up, and what makes you feel alive.

In high school and college, I spent a great deal of time thinking about the meaning of “place.” Not just a physical location or a dot on a map, not what human or cultural geographers might define as “space,” but the kind of place that holds you.

Montana has come to feel that way to me, full of places that have witnessed my every fall and every getting back up, and everything in between. Places that have seen the realness of life as an athlete and a human, the days you show up to practice carrying the rest of your life with you, and still choose to show up. Places that have held me more times than anywhere else in the world. The places I rely on for that visceral, full-body feeling of a deep breath.

Travel can be disorienting. When you’re constantly adapting to new courses, new places, and new expectations, you can start to feel like you’re floating. For me, that feeling deepened when my performance didn’t match my preparation, and the validation I thought was coming never arrived.

Coming home was my attempt to shift that. To return to the simple love I have for cross-country skiing, and to the gift of having a healthy body and mind that allow me to do it.

Place, for me, is about a relationship. It’s about repetition. It’s about contributing to something and being shaped by it in return. A meaningful place doesn’t just witness your success, it witnesses your becoming.

I don’t know what you’ll make of this ramble, or how it fits into your own relationship with skiing, or anything else for that matter. But for me, this reflection feels important. It’s part of finding meaning outside of results. It’s part of protecting what makes me love skiing in the first place, and that love is ultimately what will define how far I can take this career.

For me, right now, it’s fresh air in my lungs and floating over familiar trails. It’s a community that doesn’t fluctuate with a place sheet, and it feels like home.

Cheers!