BLOGS / HELLO WINTER / COMMUNITY VIGNETTE

Have you been reborn lately?

words by chris zimmerman | photos by eric pollard

Phone’s gone.

Not quite the way I wanted to end an all-time Japan powder run.

It had started off as a full powder-panic morning, one of those days where you find yourself racing friends and strangers alike down the mountain. Bounce off this. Slash that. You can feel the snow crashing off your chest. Two feet of light, deep Myoko pow. The dream. On mornings like this, it’s easy to forget everything and everyone as you focus on finding your flow and keeping up your speed. In the past, I wouldn’t have stopped. I wouldn’t have grabbed my phone. I wouldn’t have taken a video of my friends getting after it. And, in turn, I wouldn’t have forgotten to zip my pocket before working to unbury the nose of my Forma and get back to riding.

We’ve become so attached to our phones—and I’m no exception. Some of that attachment is pure dopamine-seeking, and some of it’s practical. Because when you’re half a world away in Japan, having a phone can be pretty important. So for a minute, I felt a flash of panic and loss. But then, oddly enough, I wasn’t really worried. I’m not sure if it had to do with the overall honesty and care the Japanese people seem to have, the all-time snow conditions, or the fact that the day before I had been reborn at Nagano’s Zenkōji temple, but I felt confident my phone would make its way back to me. As someone who usually gives a lot of chalants, I was surprisingly nonchalant about the whole thing.

And the day before was special. Built in the 7th century, Zenkōji is one of the few remaining pilgrimage sites in Japan. It’s so old the town of Nagano literally grew up around it. Aside from the history, the architecture, and the souvenirs, one of the coolest things you can do at Zenkōji is be reborn. And who could pass up something like that?

For a small fee, I put my shoes in a plastic grocery bag and walked down a narrow staircase into a completely dark corridor. One hand traced the wall. The other held my bag of shoes. Our group shuffled onward as the pitch-black reality set in. It was so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. You just had to have faith and keep moving forward.

Our goal was to touch a metal key mounted on the wall—representing the Key to the Western Paradise of the Amida Buddha—and, in doing so, reach enlightenment. The corridor wrapped around a closed-off room containing a statue of Binzuru, a physician said to be Buddha’s follower. Touching the key is meant to bring you as close to a connection as possible without being allowed to see or touch the sacred statue itself.

The wall felt cold and worn smooth from centuries of others on their own enlightenment pilgrimage. Eventually, I felt the chill of the metal key that ended up feeling more like a doorknob. I gave it a couple of shakes and moved on, making room for the next person. Our shuffling gave way to a growing light as we reached the exit stairwell and climbed back into the day—reborn and enlightened. Maybe it was the weight of the history, or the parallels to my own search for clarity, but that pitch-black hallway did something to me.

That night it snowed. A lot.

The next morning, my phone went on its own journey—without me. But I was a new man. Reborn. Enlightened. I didn’t need a phone. And if I did, I trusted the universe would return it. So after a quick panic, a quick pocket check, a ping on Find My iPhone, and messages from a friend’s phone to my wife back in Seattle, we triangulated its location. Turns out it was at the lower lift shack. Someone had found it and brought it down. Because of course they had. This was Japan, and I was reborn. I was reunited with the phone and graced with a fresh perspective.

If there’s one phrase you’ll hear in lift lines around the world, it’s “Your pocket’s open.” Because no matter what’s on your feet, what language you speak, or how hard you charge, we all equally dread losing keys, phones, and wallets. And it’s easy to do. We’re constantly juggling mittens and outerwear with so… many… pockets. It’s hard to keep track of them all. That’s why we try to help friends and strangers when we see an unzipped pocket. Now that’s community.