In May 2024, InHabit’s Editor in Chief Annie Brandner sat down with Canadian author and actor Evangeline Lilly at her Vancouver area home. Perhaps best known for her work in film and television on Lost, The Hobbit, and Antman & The Wasp, Lilly has written and published three books in her children’s series The Squickerwonkers and continues to write while on indefinite hiatus from acting. 

Read part one here. 

In part two of the conversation, Lilly discusses her experience of empathy, community and evolution as a Hollywood actor. She also opens up about navigating controversy, letting people misunderstand her, and her desire for better, more human conversations online.

“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian 

‍Change of environment

I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead. 

New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes. 

This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious:  What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.

Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.

This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt  - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.

‍Letting change flow

Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.

My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.

Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.

As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change. 

After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though. 

‍Chrono-diversity

It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes, 

“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”

I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone. 

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…

I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.” 

When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.  

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.

During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski. 

Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes, 

‍“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.” 

I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.

On playing and feeling alive

Today, at 44 years old, what’s something that makes you feel alive? 

Something in me really comes alive when I connect into Mystery through another human being. It can be as simple as two strangers seeing each other and smiling at each other. It’s like all my senses are heightened; I see clearly, I smell sharply, I feel joyful. 

And I’d say these moments happen mostly in Canada. As a Canadian who has lived outside the country for 20 years, what I’ve learned about our culture is that the rumours about Canadians being really kind is just utterly and completely true. More than any group of people I’ve experienced, Canadians treat one another as neighbours and friends. I’ve found so much more suspicion and fear elsewhere — you have to prove yourself to be treated as a friend or neighbour. 

Here, we’re more focused on the commonalities than the differences. We are less afraid of each other. We have this deeper sense of being part of a common thing. 

And what does play look like for you at 44? 

I love that you asked me that question. And I have to call you out as a fellow Enneagram One right now because you know the pain points for a One [Laughs]. I'm going to start with an untrue statement: I don't like to play. This is a belief I held for a long time — that I like to work, accomplish things, challenge myself and push my body, and that I derive pleasure from those things. But play? Play is a waste of time for me. 

I had this false idea most of my life because I was being sold a particular brand of play by our commercial, capitalistic society. Literal commercials, ads, TV, movies — pop culture — it all sold me this narrow idea of play. And I just didn’t enjoy the kind of things portrayed as play, so I figured, I guess play’s not for me. 

I am now redefining play. I actually just played last night! I could recognize in the moment that I felt delighted and was having fun, and I thought, Oh! I'm playing! 

What were you doing? 

I was having a playful, passionate, philosophical debate with my husband in the dark — just laying awake in bed in the middle of the night. [Laughs] At one point in the conversation, I said something like, “I think you need to stop talking now because you're sounding very stupid.” [Laughs] And what was so amazing — what made it fun and playful — was that instead of getting defensive and angry he got really joyful and animated, and, in this very passionate way, he doubled down on trying to get me to understand his point. And I thought, Yes! We're doing it! We're playing! 

We were debating with such a playful energy, where we could even jab each other and know there's no harm meant. We were just having a good time being silly— stretching our brains, playing on the edges together. And that is one of my favourite things to do to play. I love love love it.
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You were sure you had retired after Lost, and then you received two invitations that were Yeses for you. Can you imagine an invitation that would elicit another Yes? I know writing and directing are often very natural progressions in the industry. 

Absolutely. If I were to design it with my wants and desires in mind, it would be writing and producing. Directing is not a passion for me, but possibly a necessity because I might write something that I feel I need to execute for it to come out the way I want it — I am a[n Enneagram] One. But I also recognize that I don't know. There could be a role where somehow I end up back on screen again. At this moment, I don't want that. At this moment, I'm actively avoiding it. But because it is a one-day-at-a-time Dharma initiative [Laughs], who knows what island I'm going to end up on next.

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