As we make a turn into Soda Springs road, the distinct smell is the first sense I experience. The resinous aroma of the pines, balanced with the refreshing smell of air reassures me. I have arrived. My next sense is the sight around me. I see the long, scaly hemlocks blended with the colorful maples and birches. It’s quiet here, much different than what I’m used to. Although it may be a normal warm summer day, I look up far into the mountains and can see a brush of snow, which reminds me of the fresh tracks of powder I had skied in the prior winter.
Life here is slower, like an encouragement for reflection. Something about staring off in the distance from my porch-side view intrigues me. This silence, mixed with the occasional chirping of birds, is one different from the rest of my life. It’s a refreshing feeling, Not one necessarily lonely, it’s more of a pause. Here, I hit an imaginary reset button, recouping my composure.
When my family first began renting houses all around Lake Tahoe, I wasn’t particularly grateful. I would leave my friends every weekend, miss out on playdates and flag football games, afraid of being different. As I got older I began to realize how privileged I was to be able to spend so much of my time up in the mountains. Through years of ski lessons, I developed a meaningful connection with the snow. Carving turns back and forth through every run, I felt one with the snow. There would be times where I straightened my skis, gaining speed and enjoying the breeze behind me, or times when I took more turns appreciating the one of a kind mountain views. Even when I caught an edge, I was met by snow powder, which felt like a soft, cushioned pillow.
When I would leave Serene to go back home for the next day of school, I would often find myself stalling. I would take a final look at the lake, pack a little slower, afraid of time. My dad once described the feeling of leaving as one of guilt, expressing he never wanted to leave. As I have gotten older I have connected more with this thought, understanding the privilege I get everytime I take the 3-hour drive.
Back home in Marin, life feels rushed. I balance sports with academics as well as my social life, all on top of the stress of growing up. When I am here, in Serene Lakes, I am reassured. I am able to experience life through a more peaceful lens, much quieter than my life back home. So, when it comes to the time where I find myself cramming for a test, or nervous for an upcoming sports event, I close my eyes and imagine. I picture the trees located on the different mountains, decorated with their own unique details. I picture the quiet mornings, where I’m met with the smell of Lake Tahoe air right as I open the door. These thoughts give me a feeling of tranquility, like putting on noise canceling headphones and noticing how slowly everything fades away. Most of all though, I picture my space, the place where I feel the most as myself, the place where I feel the most connected to nature, the place a part of me forever.
I think everyone has a special place, it may be a lookout spot overlooking the ocean, or even a restaurant significant to one’s family, whatever it is, it’s our comfort place. As for me, It’s Serene Lakes, transforming a version of me different that the one portrayed in my everyday life. It’s here where I’m reminded change may be scary, but unavoidable. Serene Lakes allows me to acknowledge these two contrasting sides of myself, and embrace them. In a society that discourages the act of resetting, where we all focus on moving on, I have my place. Unfortunately, there are times when I do get caught up in life’s hecticness, but lucky for me, all it takes is a three hour drive to a smaller, isolated lake to remind me who I am and who I will always be.
