Yesterday, I lived out a dream that’s been sitting quietly in the back of my mind for years: playing hockey on a frozen lake in the mountains.
I rented skates and a stick, bought a puck, and set off with my camera. Two hours up the Icefields Parkway—a winding stretch of road between Banff and Jasper—snow-covered peaks framed the horizon. Each turn revealed something more breathtaking than the last. I was in awe.
Eventually, a right turn brought me alongside a frozen lake that stretched as far as I could see. Unlike the others, this one wasn’t buried under snow. The wind had cleared big patches of glassy turquoise ice, perfect for skating.
I pulled over, grabbed my gear, and wandered down to the shoreline. The sun cut through the thick, clear ice, illuminating every detail below. Twenty centimeters of solid, frozen lake water—perfect conditions.
I laced up my skates, grabbed my stick and puck, and ventured onto the ice.
There’s nothing quite like gliding through the mountains with a stick and puck on clear ice, the sun warming your back, and snow-dusted peaks surrounding you in every direction. For the first hour, it was magic—everything I’d imagined, fully alive in front of me.
But then, unexpectedly, the magic faded.
Halfway through my time on the ice, a strange feeling crept in: I was missing something. I looked around, and all I could think was, I wish someone else were here to experience this with me.
Chasing your dreams can be lonely.
I’ve spent years learning how to be comfortable on my own. Adventures like this—solo and self-driven—are what I’ve built my life around. I’m proud of that. But humans are wired for connection. Even for introverts like me, something about sharing an experience with someone makes it even more special.
This trip is intentional—a testing ground for what I want in a place to live. The mountains feel like home. I feel most alive here, most myself. But the part of me that craves belonging and community is still figuring it out.
When you step outside the norm and chase a life that’s a little unconventional, you often find yourself as the odd one out. It’s hard. It’s lonely. But it’s also incredibly rewarding.
Yesterday reminded me of what I’m seeking. Yes, I want mountain life. Yes, I want the freedom to skate on wild ice and explore on a whim. But I also want to find people to share it with. I want to build a life in a place where I can call up a friend and say, meet me at the lake, and know they’ll be there with skates in hand.
Balancing the Risk
A quick note on wild skating: It’s risky. Frozen lakes are unpredictable, and there’s a lot that can go wrong. I’ve done my homework—reading ice reports, checking updates from local groups, and asking questions. This particular lake is monitored by a group that posts regular updates on where it’s safe to skate.
I also recently did a photo workshop that involved walking out on frozen lakes to shoot. It gave me a chance to test wild ice in a controlled environment. This wasn’t a random whim; it was a calculated risk.
And to me, that’s what chasing your dreams is about—taking intentional risks, knowing what’s at stake, and trusting yourself to handle what comes next.
Belonging, Risk, and the Space Between
Chasing your dreams—especially the big ones—comes with trade-offs. You might find yourself on the edge of your comfort zone, far from what feels easy or familiar. There are moments of awe, like skating on wild ice in the middle of the Rockies, where everything clicks. And then there are moments of loneliness, moments you question why you chose this path at all.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: The life you want won’t just appear. You have to create the space for it.
Sometimes, that space feels wide open and exhilarating. Other times, it feels like stepping onto unfamiliar ice and wondering if it’ll hold. Both are part of the experience.
This weekend’s solo skate reminded me why I’m here—to keep building this life, piece by piece, no matter how messy or imperfect it gets. To stay curious and keep leaning into the things that light me up. But also, to remember the value of connection and the importance of inviting people into the experience.
What kind of life are you building?
What’s one step or small shift you can make to bring you closer to the life you’ve imagined?
Take your time. But don’t wait too long to start.
