From
honeycopy.com
Email Address
cole@honeycopy.com
Sent On
Sun, Feb 20, 2022 01:15 AM
Email Preheader Text
When you really take a moment to think about it, it makes absolutely no rational sense to go on a sk
HTML
When you really take a moment to think about it, it makes absolutely no rational sense to go on a ski trip. Here are all the reasons you shouldn't go skiing... If I were some sort of therapist therapizing an individual struggling with patience, I'd tell them to go on a ski trip and try their damndest not to implode. A ski trip is less a vacation and more so a wildly inconvenient (and at times downright painful) practice in becoming a "passenger" of life. No matter how intentional you are about the planning of your ski trip, no matter how obediently you follow Murphy's Law, preparing diligently for all the shit that could go wrong, shit will inevitably go wrong that even Nostradamus couldn't have successfully predicted. The 4-runner one of your buddies was insistent on renting will be two-sizes-too-small for your 6-man crew. Someone will drink too hard the night and vomit dragonfire out the side of the window as their sins slosh around in their stomach like the contents of a witch's cauldron. The Airbnb won't have enough beds; folks will have to double up and someone will have to take the couch. The groceries you ordered on Instacart to save yourselves from walking the aisles of some grocer you've never heard of won't ever arrive because you're on the side of a fucking cliff-face. The lift tickets will cost double what you thought they would and your rented ski boots will eat into your shins like greedy piranhas chew into the ass of some poor dying beast. The lines to obnoxiously named lifts will be so goddamn long they'd make a wait at Disney World feel like a Nascar pit stop. You'll get lost from your party on the mountain at some point and you'll beg for the ghosts of Lewis & Clark to reconnect you with your brethren. You'll take massive efforts to dress as warm as humanly possible but you'll find that your gloves aren't warm enough or your cap isn't toasty enough or that you wore cotton socks when you were supposed to wear wool. At some point, you'll hit the ground so hard you'll see Jesus and you'll wonder to yourself as you lick your wounds why you just paid $225 for a ticket up a mountain only to fall down it. Then, at the end of all of this, when your body feels like it's been cracked by a Mack Truck, you'll have to hoist your skis over your shoulders and make a long awkward walk home in your shin-eating ski boots, sporting a gait that resembles a squirrel with a pinecone shoved so far up its ass that its breath smells like a car air-freshener. At some point, during all of this, you will wonder if it wasn't all a mistake. If you should just pack your bags and catch the next flight out of town and head back home to Tennessee where the weather is a hell of a lot warmer and there isn't a ski lift anywhere in sight. Right around this time, you'll throw your hands up in the air and whether it's conscious or unconscious, you'll suddenly accept the fact that you don't have any control; that your sense of control was a security blanket; that your sense of security was as delicate as paper tigers in a hurricane; that you're nothing more than a passenger on a rickety spacecraft. It's here where you can begin enjoying the ski trip and I think it's here where you can begin enjoying life, when you let go of your constant need to control. Then, if you're like me, you'll walk along the pavement at the end of your first day on the slopes, piecing this newsletter together in your head, fleshing out this grand, holier-than-thou lesson in patience and you'll suddenly hit a patch of ice, crack your back on the ground, lay there for longer than you'd care to admit, eventually, hoist yourself up as stranger after stranger asks you if you're hurt and then walk your sorry ass over to the place you rented your ski equipment earlier that morning, return all of your shit a day early and eat the cost of your next day's ski pass. All that to say, I will close with this... You don't go skiing for the skiing, you go skiing for everything that happens when you're not skiing: the humbling, the practice in patience, the cold Kentucky Mule after a hard days ride, the camaraderie with some of your favorite people on the planet, the deep conversations 30-feet in the air on the ski lift, the gentle high as you drift off to sleep to Inglorious Bastards with some of your best friends. I think we go skiing because it gives us an excuse to spend 3-4 days with the people we love, even if those 3-4 days are spent in hell. And, in the moments when this hell becomes too much to bear, we get the fuck off of the mountain a day early and take back our control at least for the remainder of this year's ski trip. But, I digress. By [Cole Schafer](. P.S. If someone forwarded you this newsletter and you aren't easily offended by the word "fuck", click the black button down below and subscribe. [Subscribe to Sticky Notes.]( Want one hell of a ride for half the price of a lift ticket? While I wish I had a tactical team of seven magical dwarves that'd sneak into my home once a week, write this newsletter and foot the bill, I don't. It's just me. And, while I will always offer this newsletter for free. You buying a few of my products every now and again goes a long way. If you're into poetry, I've got two for you: 1. [One Minute, Please?](
2. [After Her](. I've also got courses that can help you: 1. [build a thriving freelancing business](
2. [become a better writer](
3. [use cold email to get anything you want](. And, if courses and poetry aren't your jam, well, you can always [watch me chase Hemingway](. [I also like cocktails.]( This week on Twitter. Genius Lyrics... I tweet 4-5 days a week and, generally, it's to test out material before taking the time to type something up into a larger, more though-out blog post. That being said, if you'd like to read my thoughts in real-time (versus once a week)... [You should give me a follow.]( Here's a sneak peek at my paid newsletter, Chasing Hemingway... Though few and far between, there are days like today where I find myself wrestling with the possibility of kicking off my Red Wings, mauling my typewriters with a tire iron, grounding the mouths of my ballpoint pens shut and walking away from writing entirely. This, obviously, isn't something I would admit publicly. But, that's why I run this small, intimate newsletter... so I have a private place to take a knife to my demons and my fears and my insecurities and my worst days and splay them all out on a butcher's block to provide some momentary reprieve for myself and, perhaps, an interesting perspective for you. From the outside looking in, I'm a writ [Wanna read the rest? Subscribe.]( P.s. Once again, if something I ever write resonates with you, please share it via the icons down below and encourage others to subscribe [here](. [Send it.]( [Send it.]( [Tweet it.]( [Tweet it.]( [Share it.]( [Share it.]( [Post it.]( [Post it.]( Copyright © 2022 Honey Copy, All rights reserved.
A while back you opted into a weekly email called "Sticky Notes". Remember? If not, you can always unsubscribe below... and risk breaking this writer's heart. Our mailing address is: Honey Copy 3116 N. Central Park
Unit #1Chicago, IL 60618
[Add us to your address book]( Want to change how you receive these emails?
You can [update your preferences]( or [unsubscribe from this list](.
EDM Keywords (199)
year
writer
wrestling
wounds
would
wonder
witch
wish
window
whether
week
weather
warm
want
walking
walk
wait
via
vacation
update
unsubscribe
unconscious
typewriters
tweet
try
town
time
ticket
throw
thoughts
thought
though
think
test
tennessee
tell
taking
take
supposed
subscribe
stranger
squirrel
splay
spent
sort
something
someone
sneak
small
sleep
skis
skiing
side
shoulders
shit
share
sense
send
security
say
save
said
run
ride
resembles
renting
rented
remainder
reconnect
receive
reasons
read
provide
price
preferences
practice
post
possibility
point
poetry
planning
planet
place
perhaps
people
pavement
patience
patch
passenger
party
pack
ouch
ordered
opted
obviously
obediently
nothing
night
newsletter
much
mouths
mountain
moments
moment
mistake
matter
material
make
longer
list
lines
like
life
lick
less
least
larger
knife
kicking
intentional
instacart
insistent
insecurities
implode
icons
hurt
hurricane
humbling
home
hoist
hit
help
hell
heart
hard
happens
hands
half
ground
groceries
grocer
goes
go
gloves
give
ghosts
get
generally
gait
fuck
free
foot
follow
find
fears
far
fall
fact
excuse
everything
end
emails
eat
drink
drift
dress
double
digress
demons
delicate
damndest
cracked
courses
couch
cost
control
contents
conscious
close
change
cauldron
catch
care
cap
camaraderie
buying
butcher
buddies
brethren
block
bill
beg
becoming
bear
bags
back
ass
aisles
airbnb
air