It's All Downhill From Here

I made my Montana ski debut two weeks ago today. It was hard and scary and maybe a little fun but the joy honestly came from the satisfaction of accomplishment. I wanted to love it. I didn't, at least not yet, but I have two more lessons to progress.

When I first arrived, I was waiting in The Schoolhouse at the base of the bunny hill. There was a group of fifth graders just finishing up on the hill. Helena has this great program wherein the fifth graders at every elementary school get a day of skiing/instruction and, along with it, a free season pass. It was a large group that day maybe three classes of students, and they were everywhere. There was a girl sitting inside the Schoolhouse who was clearly choosing not to participate. She had thick brown hair and glasses and had that somewhat awkward/not-quite-comfortable-in-my-changing-body look. While her classmates skied, she sat inside with a unicorn notebook, some colored pens, and a little pouch full of fruity lip balms.

Talk about mirrors. I sat there, and maybe even teared up a little, seeing eleven-year-old me, afraid to take physical challenges, afraid to try something that I might not be good at, choosing instead the safe, warm, but not really fun glass windowed space. Eleven-year-old me sitting opposite forty-year-old me. Feeling out of place, too old for the task at hand, a little embarrassed and a lot scared to be unable to do this thing that most of my friends here have been doing since they could walk.

The thing is, I turned out okay. I may not shred it on the ski hill, but I can do lots of other things really well. And at some point in life, I became a risk taker.  I wanted to hug that girl, and I wish I had at least spoken to her and asked her what she loves to do.

Instead, I tightened my boots, pulled on a neck warmer, and faced my fear. It was by no means a resounding success, but I'm glad I finally went outside.