Avalanches

On a sunny January morning last year, my sister picked me up on my birthday and drove me to go skiing. My sister and I are great friends, and we've been skiing for years together, usually with my dad, but today it was just us. We chatted the whole way up the canyon about her most recent art projects, her upcoming wedding in the spring, and other lovely things. 

About halfway up the canyon, as I looked out the window at the full sun shining on the frosted hills, I remembered that a sudden warm spell in winter sometimes triggers avalanches. And an image of an avalanche came into my mind: the highest mountain shuddered with a low rumble and then released glistening swathes of snow that crash over the surrounding smaller mountains, flattening cabins, trees, skiiers, until it covered the cars at the bottom parking lots. 

Completely overcome by this image, I felt my stomach sink in fear. And some arguing went on in my head between my irrational self (lets call her Izzy) and rational self (Rachel):

Izzy: "Whoa, is the thought of an avalanche a warning from GOD, Shannon?"

Rachel: "It's probably not God. He doesn't usually use fear tactics to get you to do things."

Izzy: "Yeah, but even if there's a 1% chance that an avalanche might happen today, could you really put your sister in danger like that?"

Rachel: "Hm, good point. The chance is low, but what if?"

Izzy: "If the avalanche really happens, then, then....AH! What will our parents look like at our funerals? How will they get the bad news that we've been flattened by a truckload of snow? What will become of my sister's fiancee after he's devasted at losing my sister?"

My heart thumped in my chest and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. The future prosperity and happiness of my sister, my parents, my sister's fiancee, my brother. All. rested. upon. me. And whether or not I cancelled our skiing trip. Izzy's argument was tumbling and gathering mass and momentum like a tidal wave (HA, thought I'd say avalanche there, didn't you?), and I couldn't move to get out of the way.

Luckily, my sister noticed my wide eyed, silent stare. She was like, "Shannon, are you ok? You just got really quiet." 

And then in a really small voice I said, "I'm a little scared of avalanches."

She cocked her head and asked, "Wait, what do you mean?"

She got me to explain the image, the one I thought might be sent from God as a warning. And although I expected her to share my concern, instead she started laughing.

"Wait, lemme get this straight, Shannon. You think that the highest mountain at the resort has enough snow to fill up the valleys surrounding it, overflow over the next mountain, and overflow again, and again, and again until it reaches the parking lots at the bottom?"

I looked at her and started to giggle. When she put it that way, it did seem rather ridiculous.

Natalie kept chuckling and explained, "No, no. I took an avalanche safety class in high school, and that's not how avalanches work. They only start up high in the back country. They can't get enough momentum when there are trees and ski lifts to break them up. Only back country skiiers need to worry."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief,  "Really? No way! Well, that's good news!" The doomsday pit in my stomach calmed and the sun came out again. My family wasn't going to suffer a devastating loss today.

Why I didn't hear about the avalanche safety class in high school, I'll never know. But what I do know is that my avalanches of fear screeched to a halt when they hit the firmly rooted touchstones of rational thinking and the good-natured logic of my nice sister, just like real avalanches screech to a halt when they run into a grove of pine trees.

And in case you're wondering, the skiing was AWESOME that day. Bright sky, sparkling snow, and my best friend sister with me the whole way.