The Stand

A NOVEL PATRIARCHY

The Aspen groves on Buffalo Pass, near Steamboat, CO, provide some of the best powder skiing in the country.   The trees are perfectly spaced, and just like life, they require adept quickness to navigate the maze.   The received wisdom is that we look at the spaces, not the trees, to determine where to go, relying on decades of training to direct our skis to carry us safely and joyously along one of many possible emergent paths.   

This photo was taken just weeks after my mother passed, and I am now the leader of our family – the oldest surviving child.  All my ancestors now inhabit realms beyond the physical.

Most people would have selected the epic image of me in deep-pow mid-turn valor.   The notion of the patriarchy is typically associated with images of king-like men in the foreground, in bright colors and the trappings of power and control.  

We know control is an illusion, and also that we are a modest part of this world, and not its master.   This photo not only reminds me of my relative scale in the great mystery, but also that I am ultimately interconnected with nature and part of a collective wisdom and human consciousness – just like this family of Aspens, all joined in life and death by one root system.

It’s true, I’m now unequivocally the penultimate leader in my family.   And I get to hold it as part of a much larger and more beautiful whole; small, in the natural scope of things.   

Summer Camp

EXPLORING THE FREQUENCY

Beyul Retreat Center in central Colorado (not that close to Aspen) hosted the fourth gathering of Frequency, a network of conscious wealth stewards working to imagine, fund, and build a world we want to leave to our children.   

In this photo, I’m met by the inimitable Raamayan Ananda, who has become a close friend and co-conspirator of the highest order.   While we share very different histories and pathways, Raamayan and I have moved through similar circles, danced to different drummers, and prayed the same prayer in different lineages.   

We find ourselves together on one edge of human evolution, embracing the paradox of conscious wealth.   Are there family offices that can be a force for good?   Can we tweak capitalism to work in harmony with nature?   Does spiritual devotion preclude business success?   These paradoxes nest within each other.   Raam and I have instincts that say yes, experiences that say no, and a yearning to expand our field of study to include more exquisite souls, without diluting the field.   

It can be a lonely journey, but we’ve got each other, and that carries us through our periods of doubt and struggle, navigating Board dynamics that equally frustrate and inspire.  Regardless of outcomes, it’s the journey that measures our mettle, and I’m glad to be travelling with this one.  

Starry Night

THE FINAL FRONTIER?

Camping on Cynthia’s family’s land with beloved friends is a true gift.   The freedom to explore our earth’s wilderness provides me with a deep connection to forces that transcend my life.   At Baker’s Peak, we are far from civilization’s light pollution, and therefore much more present with  the vastness of space and time.  

I’m entertained by the knowledge that the stars, planets, galaxies and the rest are always there, just above our heads, sending energy down in ways known and mysterious, whether we can observe it or not.   On this night, we had the great fortune of being fully present to celestial grandeur.  

My silhouette provides an intriguing contrast – a dark outline at the interface of planet and space.   We often hold this position, with feet rooted the planet and crown extending toward the heavens.   The perspective reminds me of the Taoist parables which bend our brains and expose the fundamental paradoxes that define our existence, if we let them.   

Urban Forest

RESPITE IN THE CITY

New York City, the home of my birth, a place that’s equally familiar and uncomfortable.  In September 2024, I returned again for Climate Week, concurrent with the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA). The city is 15% more crowded than its usual gridlock, with hundreds of Heads of State and related dignitaries inciting closed city blocks and impossible traffic, especially in midtown.

Although I’m fortunate to traverse these urban canyons with familiarity, it wears on my soul quickly.  While kind and familiar faces populate intimate gatherings, conferences, and receptions, the minute we hit the street, thousand yard stares and cloaks of emotional shielding repel my natural curiosity, making me feel quite alone in very large crowds.  

After days that feel like weeks I’m spent, and the sirens, smells, and bustle have worn me down.   But in the middle of the city, a respite…   Central Park provides a canopy, grass, and the natural oxygen that helps my nervous system drop for a few minutes, bringing some familiar relief.

Can you really go home again?  I’m glad to be headed home to Colorado later this evening, the place that has been my home for two thirds of my life.  I leave New York wondering how many more times I’ll have to suit up, and glad I know the way to salve my soul in the Big City.

Layers

SEEN AND UNSEEN

This photo finds me at the desk in my home office.  From one perspective, it’s much like many days, where I’m doing my best to push the buttons in the right order, in service to clients and a broader movement of conscious wealth stewardship.   

Most of the time, our awareness of the sun’s blessing of consistent rays of energy that bathe our beautiful blue dot is obscured my more mundane concerns of money, information, and media.  The magic of heat and light fuels life despite our ignorance and distraction.  

In this moment, light’s particles and waves became elegantly visible, moving into the foreground in an indisputable array, casting my face into a new relationship as a background image, a gentle beautiful reminder of our place in the grand scheme of things. 

Spring Powder Day

SUNGLASS FACESHOTS

Once again, the map was not the territory.   It was a warm spring day, and we were tired, cranky, and dubious about the conditions.  Nonetheless, we loaded up the truck out of habit and perseverance, and made the familiar early-morning drive to Berthoud Pass, home to some truly great backcountry terrain, only 90 minutes from home.   

Even on the skin track, our spirits were mixed, and the conditions were not guaranteed. Cynthia and I climbed slowly, keeping our distance due to relational tension.   At the top, we were pleasantly surprised to find a good friend and sometimes ski partner.  In addition to having a great attitude, Chris’ presence shifted our dynamic, and the vibes improved quickly.  Also, he’s a great photographer.

The powder had held up quite well, even in the spring sun.   We put down some great tracks on the upper flats, dropped into the trees, rolled around, skated up the aqueduct, and there it was – one of the chutes of the 80s had not yet been skied.   

Everything fell into place, Chris posted up near a transition mid-slope, and we skied one of the best runs of the season.  Waist deep pow billowed up, and the beautiful dance of telemark turns converted snow, gravity and skis into another timeless moment, this one captured for posterity.  The map is not the territory, and sometimes if you wanna know, you gotta go.  

50th SKI SEASON

REFLECTIONS ON A HALF-CENTURY

It’s wild to contemplate that I’ve been skiing for 50 years; something on the order of 2,500 days.

I’ve learned to ski 5 times. So far. First was as a little kid. Next as a ski racer. Third as a powder and big mountain skier, which brought a clear end to the ski racing. Then I learned to telemark and backcountry ski. Now I’ve learned how to ski with tai chi and energy, not just muscle power, cannabis, and testosterone.

It’s been a breakthrough year in that I’ve skied largely without knee pain for the first time in at least five years, if not more. With the help of healers and my tai chi Sifu, I’ve learned to open up my body, and let the chi flow around and through all the pain.

The highlight of the season (SO FAR) was, oddly, on a ski lift, with a great crew that included Marco. We were at Copper, which is not typically known for epic ski moments. However, I got to experience a rift in space-time, in which my 16-year-old self riding on the E lift caught a glimpse of the 52-year-old self on the Super B. Teen Greg was deciding — then and there — to move to Colorado, and “do this ALL the time.” Today’s self felt the young-me seeing the now-me, and, well, it was transcendent. Worm hole!

Newberry Crater

A SOVEREIGN MILESTONE

The day after I dropped my eldest child off at The University of Oregon, in Eugene, I began a long and non-linear solo trip home. On this journey, I spent much of my time alone, contemplating the thresholds I’ve been stepping through during this latest turning of the cycles… the change of the seasons, the progress through life phases, evolution of my professional purpose, and, most importantly, my ever-deepening relationship with myself.

It seemed portentous, to say the least, that the first place I found myself was Newberry Crater. Technically, it’s the rim of a volcanic crater in central Oregon, not far from Bend. This singletrack mountain bike trail traces the outline of the former (and future?) volcano. However, this seemingly simple trail held more meaning for me.

Newberry. New Berry. In what way? The depth of that answer doesn’t fit in a few short paragraphs, but the essence is in the word sovereign; in basing my decisions, my movements, and my priorities from a deep center (or crater??) within myself. In earlier phases of adulthood, I was sourcing my decisions internally, but things had changed. For decades I was sourcing meaning from outside my self, and I’m now finding my way back home, inside myself, all within a journey upon unfamiliar land. Today, the depth, commitment, and gravitas in the Berry Crater feels quite New. New Berry Crater.

The notion of Parallel Trail on the sign is equally provoking. Is there a parallel trail through life? Had I been on it over the past decades? Can it possibly end up at the same point? The question continue, but I’ll never know, I’m on the Newberry Crater trial, wherever that leads….

Cutting Through

KUNG FU ON THE BEACH

The Oregon coast is a special ecology, seducing lovers of subtle aesthetics.   Today we found a deliciously uncommon scene more reminiscent of Southern California — sandy beach, warm temps, and clear skies.  It seemed as if the sun sat on the horizon for hours, as we danced, played, loved and laughed.  

Tai chi has become wired into my body and DNA, informing not only how I move, but how I dance with energy.    I’ve learned how to yield and redirect the power of opponents, as well as the flow of gravity through my molecules.   

This evening, the dance with elemental energies extended to the sun, and today, from one perspective, I was connected to the flow of electrons emanating from the beautiful nuclear explosion happening a mere 93 millions miles away.   Did my hand create those rays?   Was I guided into this moment by powers unseen?   The answer is both.   And neither.   Such is the way of the Tao.   

Holding Space

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AN IMPORTANT DISCUSSION

In this photo, I’m sitting next to a close friend and conference panelist, Devin Hibbard. I’m chairing a panel on the hard parts of entrepreneurship, and all of us are sharing the vulnerable, and often hidden costs of starting and leading organizations that make positive change in people’s lives. What’s rarely spoken is the toll that takes on the founders. On this day, we brought that discussion out in the open, and with Devin, as well as Royce Haynes and David Mayer (not pictured), we covered topics that included marriage (and divorce), alcoholism (and recovery), personal financial loss (without recovery), and the power of generational support.

I treasure these opportunities to host the hard conversations, and am honored to be invited to open and hold a safe space for people to bring forward their deeper truths. It mirrors my work with individual clients, but in this way, I’m able to serve a much broader community. Many thanks to Alex Raymond, the founder of the Conscious Entrepreneur Summit, for this opportunity.

On Turning 50

BROTHERHOOD

This photo was taken at our good friend Devin’s 50th birthday. Although Devin was delightfully pre-occupied at this moment, her husband Mark is at the center, anchoring the gravity of the moment. Three of us (me, (left) Stevan (right), and Marco (next to Stevan)) have turned 50 during the pandemic, along with Devin.

What goes unseen in the silliness of the poses is the deep support and love these men hold for each another. Beyond surviving the pandemic together, we’ve held each other through massive changes in our lives; birth, death, marriage, divorce, businesses started and sold, and our unfolding understanding of ourselves. There is no way to overstate the role we’ve played in each others' lives and growth.

While it’s folly to assume what other communities are like, the depth of our mutual support transcends cultural norms, and inspires us each to more fully move forward with confidence and courage to into an uncertain world, moving through milestones together, including a recognition of the depth of a 50th birthday. Here’s to a happy birthday for us all!

(L to R: me, Quayle Hodek, Mark Jordahl, Marco Lam, Stevan Simich)

A New Decade In the High Country

EXPLORING THE PHASES OF LIFE

In my teens and 20s, skiing was all about finding the flow of a perfect line, playing with gravity, and the subtleties of the differences in snow quality.

In my 30s, I explored the zen of climbing mountains on skins, exploring the conservation of energy and dialing in the subtle efficiencies of gear and perfectly repeated process.

In my 40s, I used those tools to bring me into deep alignment with the tao of these peaceful wild places, minding my presence and connection.

Now I’m 50, entering my sixth decade of skiing. What realizations will this decade of skiing bring?

Spirit World

MAN ON FIRE

Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about this photo is that it has not been edited in any way, other than some minor cropping. As you contemplate the layers, you’ll see that I’m on the other side of the fire, the Summer Solstice fire of 2021. I was an exuberant volunteer for life, as our ceremonial leader, Leaf Running Rabbit, would say. In this moment, I was the “first follower,” stepping fully into a community celebrating the longest day of the year.

I feel quite humbled to be welcomed into multiple spiritual communities, and I realize how fortunate I am to live in a place and time where we come together with old and new friends to deepen our connection to land, to our ancestors, and to the elemental spirits that invisibly bind this world together. Invisible, that is, to our common ways of seeing. When we are provided with the opportunity to open the aperture, and see beyond the veil of our modern culture, much more of our incredible world makes itself apparent to anyone who chooses to see.

The Cousin’s Call

BLACK SHEEP

I don’t talk much about my family.   But when I do, it’s with a nuanced curiosity and deep respect.  

I’m the black sheep.  The under-achieving over-achiever of our generation.  My cousins have accomplished far more in their professional lives than I, and my sister would have (and still could!), had she not paused her career for 15 years to raise kids.   This is the truth, not a self-flagellating imagined hyperbole.   Our fathers, who were brothers, have both passed, and it’s now the four of us keeping our shared heritage alive.

In leaving my family behind in 1989 for a move to Colorado that I’ve neither never doubted nor considered reversing, I moved off the path, and made some big trades, including…

A New York State Of Mind for the Rocky Mountain High (I’ve seen it raining fire in the sky!)…
An Ivy League heritage for the Wisdom of the hills …
Financial wealth for Spiritual depth …  

All of which reminds me of the question David Gilmour sang in the Pink Floyd classic “Wish You Were Here,”

Did they ask you to trade…
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?

Here I am today, wearing a tie-dye, logging into Eric’s Zoom room for a “Cousins Call.” I’m deeply at peace at our home in Nederland, a small mountain town outside of Boulder, while they are logging in from a pair of New York City highrise apartments, a Boston mansion, and a Connecticut country club enclave.

I’m more fully comfortable and at home in myself than I’ve ever been, and follow the path of self-discovery and it unfolds before me … and, still, as I Zoom into this call, I’m wondering…. What If? In the end, I know, I chose the Road Less Traveled, and that has made all the difference.

Wolf Creek Pass

STILLNESS IN MOTION

The tree skiing on Wolf Creek Pass, in southwest Colorado, has a particular feeling. The trees are older, and more widely spaced. The snow is deeper, and more consistent. The pitch of the runs is perfect for the typically deep snow; nothing radical, but consistently pulling me down the mountain. The crowds are elsewhere, chasing the thrills promised by more popular resorts, accessed by ubiquitous multi-area ski passes.

Beyond those characteristics, there is an ineffable quality to these woods. I can feel it in a photo, and in the subtle quality of the smile on a friend’s face the following week. I can see the silence.

It’s hard enough to get there, and even harder to leave. I’m fortunate to visit, and know this place so deeply. At these times, I don’t really want to leave. However, to quote Robert Frost,

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Time In The Desert

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REALITY EXPANSION MACHINE

Burning Man is generally misunderstood by those who have only experienced it in two dimensions — via photos, videos, stories, and projections of one’s world view. What it has provided for me, and many of the hundreds of thousands of souls who have shared the unique experience, is an expansion of one’s notion of what is possible in the world.

Our camp mates, mostly pictured here atop the art we had installed, are watching the preparation for the actual Burning of the Man, a spectacle steeped in socio-cultural meaning, poignant for each participant at a different level. The artist and director of this project, Darrel Anstead, who you can see in the red shirt, pours himself into each art experience, gifting our community with an inspiring venue; an invitation to explore the depths of space and time.

These new perspectives provide us with a refreshed view on life. As we integrate back into modern culture, our hearts, minds, and souls are reconfigured, and we bend the universe, however imperceptibly, into a slightly more beautiful and connected version of itself.

Celebrating A Beautiful Union

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A MOMENT IN PRAYER

In this photo, my good friend Marco Lam and I sit deeply in prayer. We are together, under an enormous oak tree, at the wedding of our close mutual friend, Mathew Gerson. As our grey hair demonstrates, we are well into the middle of our lives, and Mathew is no exception.

It seems important to say that this is Mathew’s first wedding. By now, we have all graduated from the wild inebriation of celebrations past. A potent reverence for the ceremony replaces mother culture’s escapism via intoxication, and we deeply pray that Mathew and Colleen are able to navigate the joyous challenge that is marriage.

The three of us have travelled different journeys, colliding on this beautiful day within the embrace and protection of the aura of this mighty tree. The feeling of the strength of the trunk, the gravitas of the roots, and the canopy of branches and leaves envelopes the ceremony, and, if all is well, holds Mathew and Colleen in its spirit for many decades to come.

Respecting The Elders

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LOVELAND TELE POSSE

This photo, circa 2016, is of me with my three most beloved ski mentors, and some of my most common and frequent ski partners. Together, at the time, we were a combined age of approximately 225 years, with likely 200 ski seasons combined, it’s a real testament to friendship, partnership, respect, and learning.

There is a deeper layer of trust that partners develop doing dangerous things at high altitudes. I consider trust in terms of altitude… people I would ski with at Steamboat, or cross country skiing at 7,000’ might not make the cut when we’re exploring avvy-prone terrain out the backcountry gate on Loveland Pass above 11,000’. These gents, however, have been my partners up to the top of 14,000’ backcountry peaks.

We are, of course, pointing at nothing in particular, playing into a silly moment… a clustermark of telefuckers, as we would sometimes call it. Because for all the seriousness of high altitude backcountry skiing, it damn well better be fun, as well.

Left to Right: Charlie Ziskin, me, Kevin Bound, Larry Hall

When It All Comes Together

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DEEP IN THE POCKET

Experienced powder skiers call it the White Room, a region a spacetime where you’re not merely skiing on the snow, but you’re fully immersed in it. Even the most dedicated only get to visit once in a while. Others may only get there once or twice in a lifetime. Each time is a special moment, and even more rare to be captured so perfectly by a camera (in this case, by Larry Hall).

We were at Jackson Hole, Wyoming, chasing a storm. The runs were getting a little skied out, and it was still early enough in the season that you had to be careful not to get caught in a creek. As the willows show, the snowpack wasn’t that deep yet, and terrain traps lurked, hidden by the thick white blanket.

We can train, practice, and pursue our passions. Only rarely does that everything come together, when time slows down, and conditions conspire for the magic moment. The trick is to stay fully present — the space between transcendence and catastrophe can be a millimeter’s shift in balance. It happened this day. And I am truly grateful.

Apache Couloir

SUMMER SLIDE

The Indian Peaks Wilderness (IPW) looms large west of Boulder, Colorado. South of Rocky Mountain National Park, the IPW is part of the same mountain spine that defines the Continental Divide. We are fortunate to call it “the backyard,” and can arrive at one of various trailheads in roughly an hour (or so) from our homes.

In the Third Season of summer skiing, we get to explore the high peaks, which are often too risky to travel in the middle of winter. In the winter and early spring, less snowpack stability increases the chance of avalanche, and long distances, short days, and cold weather all increase the risk. Increase it to a point where we choose different ski objectives.

But in the summer, these long, steep, highly aesthetic runs above treeline beckon us. And on this particular summer day, Charlie Ziskin and I put it all together, just right.