People who live in Jasper are here for a reason.
Any conversation that dips even slightly deeper than a greeting, and you鈥檒l soon learn what someone left behind, where they thought they were headed before stopping here and staying, why this place instantly felt like home, and why they鈥檇 never want to leave.
The pull is inexplicable but I鈥檒l do my best.
After two months, I鈥檝e learned that it鈥檚 not a place where people live unconsciously.
It鈥檚 small enough that your reputation is as close as your shadow, what you do and say ricochets off those around you and bounces back to look you in the eye. Your patterns emerge when there are fewer variables and less distraction.
Relationships all over town become episodic, as if you hit play and pause with each interaction. Whether it鈥檚 the women at the liquor store, the grocery store or the clan of baristas at SnowDome - you pick up where you left off. If you haven鈥檛 bridged the gap between silence and pleasant banter, the suspension is palpable. It makes sense to make friends. It鈥檚 more awkward not to say hi. You will definitely see one another again - and often.
I鈥檝e considered that proximity to nature is another culprit for a constant state of introspection. The mountains are towering reminders of the blip that is human life, with its intricacies, troubles, triumphs and to-do lists. At nature鈥檚 mercy, our perceived power and problems pale in comparison. Suddenly, the big things don鈥檛 seem so big.
Had it not been for this time in Jasper, I likely would have remained resolved to master the world in silly ways with output that met no real resolution. It seems there are certain mighty elements - the mountains, a biting chill or fitful winds, a rushing river - that rouse something otherwise subdued within us when roaming a big city. Slowing down causes us to go within ourselves to gather the truth of what we really want.
A woman sitting alone at The Emerald Lounge told me that she discovered her husband was seeing a man so she came here to think and breathe. By the end of the night, she was laughing.
A rather famous musician from the Netherlands told me she was visiting on a ski trip, fell for her instructor, and never left. The magnetism of love is not so different from the way nature moves us.
Alternatively, a man on a shuttle told me he was agitated, he looked around and said: this isn鈥檛 enough, it鈥檚 boring. We were winding up the road towards Marmot Basin, sunbeams chased shadows across the misty mountains and the trees were candy-coated in snow. Wherever you go, there you are.
To live in the moment is to experience the simultaneous joy and sorrow of its inevitable ending. Nature reminds us that our time here is short, and those drawn to that feeling already have something in common. The veil between strangers and friends is as thick as a good question.
Nicolle Hodges
