Like Bambi endearingly finding his footing on ice, work travel in my early 20s was something of a learning curve. As a green, young buck, my very first work trip felt amazingly glamorous. It came with a ski villa and an unlimited expense account. I was a development coordinator at a major film studio at the time, sent to Sundance Film Festival on the company dime to scout talent, take in the best yet-to-be-sold fodder, and report back from the front lines. I had attended the festival multiple times in film school as a mere voyeur, making my officially sanctioned, full-credential status seem all the more legit. It was an easy gig to say yes to. It held all the glamour. The alpine setting invited the opportunity to pack like Audrey Hepburn in Charade. Park City may as well have been the French Alps to my wide-eyed naiveté. My packing list wasn't a problem. There were deeper lessons to be gleamed.
Photo: Candice Lake