Disclaimer: This is a tad more serious than our other blogs so take head. We take no responsibility for any impulsive life decisions made following the reading of this blog.
We've already given you the reasons to become a chalet couple here, but I bet what i'm about to say resonates with many more of you. This is my story and it's not atypical...
So, I’m sat here in my works London office next to the comfort of the warm radiator overlooking Victoria train station. I have colleagues all around me who I either barely know their name or have never locked eyes with. There’s no talking, just the tapping of our keyboards.
As I look outside, it ain’t pretty either. Rain hammers down hard against the reinforced glass that is just about blocking out the engine noise of the stationary buses below. Stationary because of the road works, always fucking road works. In fact I think those dozen or so men in their high viz one pieces are actually installing about a billion ‘Boris Bike’ posts on the pavement (really useful when the adjoining cycle paths are all blocked by queuing traffic), but just what they’re doing closing half the road to do so is any fuckwits idea.
But it’s grim out.
The sky is grey and the smog from the city almost completely obscures my view of the next tower block less than a single mile away. God knows what we’re all breathing in.
I’m close to finishing my work for the day before I follow a thousand other commuters all in raincoats and anoraks into the great entrance hall of Victoria station. All bumping into each other as everyone buries their head into their phones, barely looking up to apologise for knocking another’s coffee from their hand.
No doubt, there will be delays. Followed by further delays and finally a cancellation that will result in two trains worth shoved onto one train with fewer carriages. We will all scramble aboard and attack each other to bag a vacant seat- not physically, but passively aggressively through our words, looks and gestures. There will be the one good guy who offers their seat for the women or elderly, but that’s a dying trait.
Now just the one hour commute, followed by either a 15-minute bus or 30-minute cycle home, that is, if one of my wheels hasn’t been stolen, again!
Now, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my life. My fiancée is incredible and gives me absolute strength and motivation. My family and friends are always there for me and I am really enjoying my work. In fact I’m quite lucky with it; I sometimes work from home, I don’t have anyone looking over my shoulder, no time sheets to check, the works enjoyable, offers real career progression and I’m earning good money for this stage of my life.
But isn’t there more than the above?
Can’t we meet new people regularly who actually want to interact with you instead of looking like you just slapped them when you strike up a conversation? People who are passionate about life and like-minded individuals? Somewhere where the view is something naturally beautiful, spectacular and breath-taking, like below, instead of concrete, man-made symmetry? Somewhere where the daily commute is as enjoyable as the scenery and the work, whilst demanding, is more rewarding?
At the moment I’m safe. My job is safe with the high probability of a promotion, my relationship is good, my health is intact and I have good food on the table every day.
But my heart yearns more. My heads not too far away either, with more and more reasons being logically analysed and added to my counter arguments and quavering fear of the unknown. I’ve never cooked for a whole houseful, I’ve never cleaned such a big property, I’ve never lived abroad.
But I’ve also never skied a black run. Never gone ice climbing, never done a husky ride, never gone backcountry skiing, never immersed myself in a different culture, never lived away from a city, never been in a remote location. Never been unsafe, never been pushed, never gone out of my comfort zone.
It may only be up to 6 months we are in the Alps for, but I will be bringing far more back than the ability to bake a good cake! The friendships that I will gain, both with other seasonaires and guests, will no doubt last a lifetime. My French language skills will improve fourfold as I immerse myself to their ways and culture. My people skills, management skills, time management skills will all sky rocket. My confidence will be unrecognisable because to live somewhere where those safety nets of modern daily life don’t exist will force me, force us, to grow. And grow quickly.
But the real reason for this journey? Memories.
My money will go one of two ways throughout my lifetime. It will either consistently grow and make me more comfortable than I am now, or it will dwindle. However, if it dwindles I am certain it can be brought back through hard work and determination.
Memories are either made or they are not. They barely fade and they are rarely forgotten. They last a lifetime and who else would you rather make them with than the person who will see you through until the end. Time stops for no man and I don’t want to look back on mine thinking ‘what if?’
I’m going to be damn sure myself and my beautiful other half have more than money to pass on to our kids...