I skied on New Year’s Eve—the first time in 21 years. During my ski sabbatical, skis shrank by a foot and got fatter by a few inches. Helmets became the norm instead of something only old people wore (and the young, cool crowd sneered at). I saw the same, familiar snow bunnies in Chamonix, France that I saw in Vail, CO 21 years ago, completely kitted in Bogner with Lacroix skis and designer goggles, but that’s where familiarity ended.
