Flights lead to unexpected adventures, moments where I feel the delicate lanugo-like hairs on my neck tingle, and momentary flashes where I hover just above reality. From standing at the top of a ski hill in the French Alps, so high up that you are not sure where the mountains end and the clouds begin, to hiking up a fresh muddied trail into a remote lagoon in Thailand while being followed by Macaque monkeys in the swaying branches above, travel allows me to be completely in the moment and nothing else in the world matters.

Lake time is different. It is familiarity and warmth. It is jumping off the dock, boating, long balmy afternoons spent reading Swedish mystery novels and card games that last late into the night. It is perfectly barbecued steaks, freshly picked Alberta corn and a chilled Big Rock beer. I cherish lake time and could not imagine summer without it but it is not getting on an airplane. I smile, I laugh, I relax, but I do not get that travel high. The only moment that comes close is when I’m out on my water ski-- a natural feeling of euphoria hits me as my slalom ski glides across the smooth waters.