A revised view of the winter season

Just a few extra observations: 

I have lived through three snow droughts during my short life and my 72 seasons of skiing: First in 1963-1964 in France, then in the West during the 1976-1977 season while I was still living in New York and finally this 2025-2026 winter season. What’s my take-away? 

For one thing, a winter with little or no snow is totally demoralizing. It makes you feel things like: “Will a normal winter ever return?” It casts doubt on the future of skiing and closes the door to a positive outlook. Sure, we feel the exact opposite of folks in New England, in Europe or Hokkaidō that enjoyed a wonderful snow season, but we’re woefully unable to feel their glee… 

Of course, in the context of what goes on in Gaza, Iran, Lebanon, Sudan and Ukraine, these considerations are trivial... 

At the same time we all know that everything is cyclical and good, average and we try to remind ourselves that bad situations come and go, just like good and mediocre ones, so there ‘s hope that better ones will eventually return, but we’ll have to keep in mind that great, normal and worse are hooked on the same cycle. 

Finally, there’s no way we can remove the sobering element, the “elephant in the room” that climate change is. This horrible trend not only isn’t going away, but is likely going to deepen, make greatness less likely, normalcy not so good, while exceptional years will become rarer and terrible circumstances start trending as the norm. 

Did I forget anything?

The aftermath of change-making

Today, inspired by the book we discussed previously, we’ll explore how major, unexpected life disruptions can often transform ourselves in finding new, unexpected directions and growth opportunities within ourselves. 

This is something I particularly enjoy because I naturally like to think in terms of systems, patterns, and long arcs. I’m not just happy to see that “change happens”; I want to understand how change can transform me, change my personality and my identity. 

I also want to evaluate whether a change was good or bad, how we can integrate change into a coherent life story. I’m also curious to know what skills can make us more adaptive than reactive. 

What follows is a framework that addresses these questions. It could work like this: Every change — chosen or imposed — creates four layers of consequences. By analyzing all four, we’ll get a complete picture. 

• It starts with the external aftermath. What objectively has changed in our lives? A job, a location, a relationship, a set of routines and a bunch of constraints. This is the easiest, but also the least interesting layer. 
• Then, as expected, comes the internal aftermath. For instance, what shifted in our identity? Elements like confidence, worldview, sense of agency and emotional tone. This is where we’re talking about a real life changing story. 
• Now comes the narrative aftermath that begs the question, how do we explain the change to ourselves? As it relates to loss, liberation, accident, destiny or just a lesson. We humans don’t live in events; we live in the stories we tell about events. 
• This process concludes with the fourth layer, the skill aftermath. What new capacities have emerged in us? Traits like resilience, perceptual acuity, intuition, adaptability and pattern recognition. This last layer is the opportunity to let our personal strengths shine as we’ve already spent a lifetime turning change into skill. 

I don’t know about you, but this framework works well for me, because it mirrors the way I think naturally. A form of thinking that’s layered, analytical, experiential, meaning‑driven and oriented toward some sense of control and mastery. It can also turn any change — past or future — into something I can debate, evaluate, and learn from.

Completing my ski instructor certification

Just over fifty years ago, I finally got my full French ski instructor certification after a four week training session in Chamonix, France. Between the auxiliary diploma and the national diploma, I spent €2 200 in today’s Euros. Today, the total cost ranges from €15,000 to €25,000 for the entire program (which lasts, on average, 4 to 6 years). 

Since these days, the training of instructors at the École Nationale de ski et d’alpinisme (ENSA) has undergone a profound transformation, evolving from a traditional mountain craft into a highly qualified profession in sports education. First, the educational background and prerequisites changed enormously. 

In the 1970s, training was accessible to candidates with only a minimal level of formal schooling. The top level of certification was perceived primarily as a validation of technical proficiency. Many instructors were "locals", working as farmers, small business employees or tradespeople during the summer months, for whom skiing was a natural skill rather than the result of a formal scholarly training. 

Today, although no university degree is required to enroll, the complexity of the theoretical examinations (anatomy, physiology, theory of skiing, and the legal aspect of the job demands a level of comprehension equivalent to that of at least a high school diploma or higher. The curriculum is now integrated into the LMD system (Bachelor’s-Master’s-Doctorate) in terms of training credits, reflecting the profession's increased sophistication. Then comes the proficiency in foreign languages. 

Back in the 1970s, language proficiency was at best rudimentary and often limited to a few key phrases used to run a lesson (like the comical "Bend your knees," "Follow me", “Fifty Dollars please”. Instruction was essentially visual and based on imitation. Today’s knowing and mastering a foreign language has become a key element of the profession. The final examination (comprising the “Eurotest” and a specific language proficiency test) requires genuine mastery. 

Given the internationalization of the clientele, an instructor must often juggle English (which is mandatory) and frequently a second language—such as Russian, Dutch, or Portuguese—in order to explain complex technical concepts and ensure safety. 

Then comes what I always felt was a huge weakness in the French curriculum, technical and pedagogical skills. In my days, the primary emphasis was placed on the "straight run" and the “Christiania” turn. The teaching approach was directive and standardized: the instructor demonstrated, and the student replicated. Safety was managed in a more intuitive, less formalized manner. 

Today, however, the advent of the shaped skis has revolutionized instruction with more emphasis on carved instead of skidded turns. In terms of pedagogy, differentiated instruction is now employed in which the instructor adapts to the student's psychology, energy levels, and personal goals. In addition, today’s instructors are trained not only in alpine skiing but also in snowboarding, telemark skiing, cross-country skiing, and adaptive skiing. 

Finally, safety is no longer taken for granted. In the 70s, knowledge of the mountain environment was empirical, passed down by seasoned veterans. Off-piste skiing was less regulated, and rescue tools (such as avalanche transceivers) were scarce. Today, the instructor’s training includes advanced courses in snow science, meteorology, and avalanche risk management. The proper use of avalanche transceivers (DVA), probes, and shovels is subject to rigorous examination. 

So, as you can read a quantum leap in skills is what’s offered to skiers who need or want ski instruction!

The way we learn from books (Part Two)

It’s actually quite common to enjoy a book like Maya Shankar’s “The Other Side of Change” yet walk away feeling as if nothing stuck. And that “zero‑takeaway” sensation is not my failure of comprehension, but rather a clue about the way my mind processes ideas. 

Let’s try to explore that issue of style of communication, and then offer a more powerful way to think — and debate — the aftermath of change. There is no framework in the stories that were offered to me in that book, still it was pleasant to read, emotionally touching, but hard to retrieve and cognitively slippery. I must be someone who thrives on frameworks, systems, and meaning‑making. 

A book that doesn’t offer those explicitly typically never leaves a strong imprint in me. To begin with, the topic (change) is too universal When a book describes something we’ve lived deeply — and many of us have lived a life full of reinvention, adaptation, and resilience — the ideas can feel like things we already know intuitively. 

As a result, our mind goes: “Yes, yes, I’ve lived this. Nothing new here.” True, familiarity reduces memorability. Another way to look at how books impact our minds is that without friction there is no retention. We all tend to remember ideas that challenge us, provoke us, or contradict our assumptions. When the tone of a book is gentle, validating, and non‑confrontational, it doesn’t push back against your worldview and provoke us to pay attention. 

We could say that pleasant reading creates almost no cognitive tension and doesn’t make much of an imprint on us. A book too easy to read works more like a reflection and less as a mind-opening tool. In that particular subject of “Change”, a book should be philosophical (why change matters), psychological (how change affects identity) and practical (how to navigate change). 

That book covered these two first points but left me hoping for the third one. In a next blog, we’ll return to the subject of that book and this time, explore how to actually debate the aftermath of change.

The way we learn from books (Part One)

I just finished reading “The other side of change”, a book by cognitive scientist Maya Shankar that explores how major, unexpected life disruptions can lead to profound personal transformation, blending personal stories with scientific research to offer a guide for navigating upheaval and finding new meaning and potential within ourselves. 

Shankar, host of the “A Slight Change of Plans” podcast, uses narratives of people facing events like job loss, illness, or relationship endings to illustrate universal lessons about resilience, identity, and growth, encouraging readers to see change as an opportunity for reimagining who they can be. 

I enjoyed reading the book, but must admit that its contents glided on me like water over ice. The book was experiential, not instructional as the author wrote it in a reflective, narrative style. It’s warm, empathetic, and story‑driven but not prescriptive. 

My brain brain enjoyed the flow but didn’t get any clear “hooks” to store. Has this ever happened to you? This aspect of book retention is a subject I need to dig a bit deeper into, and report my findings to you, so expect that subject to populate my next blog…

Our first and only apartment

Fifty years ago, the day after we got married, both my spouse and I drove to Nevers, on the Loire river, smack in the center of France, to begin my new job as product manager for Look bindings. 

At first, we rented a house in nearby Challuy and the following month we purchased a small, 393 square foot apartment right in the heart of Nevers, on a 3rd floor in a building that must be harking back at least to the 16th century. 

The stone steps were so used up that they were carved out under long and heavy foot traffic like those of the old castle, there was a musky, old smell in the air and we had more difficulties climbing to the third level than we would have today, which says a lot about our physical shape in these days. 

We parked our Citroën Dyane 6, in the street just below. Historic charm certainly has its limits and we sure didn’t enjoy living in Nevers, a small town that went from 75,000 to around 65,000 people today, nor did I enjoy my job with the company, so I resigned and we sold the apartment when we left Nevers. 

Between the acquisition cost, some major improvements (a new roof) and factoring what would have been the cost of renting a place for 14 months, we even managed to make some money... 

Today, our apartment’s interior has been markedly improved from when we had it, but according to Booking.com’s guest comments the funny smell still lingers in the staircase!

Moon shot or Iran war?

As we were watching the launch of Artemis II on Wednesday, my wife asked me how much money this jaunt around the moon would cost the US taxpayers, when we have so many unmet other priorities. Before I go any further, please remember that we’re talking about money the United States doesn't have and will pile up onto our soon-to-be $40 trillion debt. 

The answer is over $4 billion a ride. If we look at the four missions from I to IV, they’ll amount to some $16.4 billion based on NASA’s Inspector General estimate. This figure reflects per‑mission operating cost (SLS + Orion + ground systems) and does not include the massive development costs of the Artemis program as a whole. 

Overall, the total cost, with each mission should amount to about $100 billion if we were to stay on budget. Artemis is essentially rebuilding the entire US deep‑space exploration stack from scratch and including new heavy‑lift rockets (SLS), a deep‑space crew vehicle (Orion), Lunar infrastructure (Gateway, landers), new ground systems and long‑term lunar operations planning. 

As always is the case in these projects, expect the budgeted $93 billion to cost Americans well over $100 billion… 

Now we can contrast that with the war in Iran, where the “excursion” as Trump likes to call his belligerent action, has already cost us $30 to $40 billion depending on the estimates (not factoring the heavy economic consequences worldwide), not including 3 to 5,000 dead and property damage on the Iranian side, and it’s far from over. 

So when I compare these two expenditures, I’d take space exploration any day if I had to choose between this and an unnecessary war.