Permission to Suck.

March 2025

Mar 15, 2025

My first time on skis was when I was in my early twenties. Pre-kids, pre-wedding even, Dan and I were full of youthful optimism. “Keep the skis parallel!” “Lean forward!” “Bend your knees!” Bless his heart. Dan had learned how to ski at five, enjoyed many family ski trips to the Sierras, and wanted to share his favorite winter pastime with me.

I tried, I really did. But the skis were untamable. In trying to find the elusive skier stance, my body wobbled, and the long, slick planks forged out from under me. Or else, they ended up in a clanking cross. Most of the time, I had no idea what I’d done to end up in a tangled mess on the hard-packed snow. Even worse, I couldn’t manage to stand back up.

Our moods were dampening from round after round of my klutzy failure and our concerted struggle to get me vertical again. The Tahoe air was crisp, the sky was clear blue with a few fluffy clouds floating by, and the sun was brightly shining. But Dan’s smile and encouragement was fading as our frustration mounted.

Learning to ski at such a young age, he didn’t have to think much about these very basic skills. “You just get up,” he told me. My helplessness exasperated us both. “Try harder!” The other option he presented was to go to a steeper slope, which would have made it easier to get up, but given my inability to stay upright for more than a few seconds on this bunny slope, that was terrifying and a hard no.

“Spouses make terrible ski instructors!” my Whistler ski instructor said, laughing. By that time, some fifteen years after that hopeless day in Tahoe, we’d been on more ski trips than I could count, and our eleven and seven year old boys were happy to join their father for both off-piste skiing and double black diamond runs.

My progress, however, has been much slower. And it’s not for a lack of trying, or trying harder even. I wish I’d learned to ski as a kid, as it has proven to be one of the hardest things for me to learn how to do. “You just need to go faster, Mom.”

But rather than going faster or following these daredevils to moguls or death-defying terrain, I recently considered hanging up the towel. After all these years of trying, maybe skiing just isn’t for me.

“You can always go to the spa while everyone skis,” a friend suggested. “There’s a yoga place,” Dan said. “Have you tried snowshoeing or cross-country skiing? You might like that because it’s not downhill,” said another friend who knows I like being active outdoors but have trouble wrapping my head around the idea of strapping on slidy things to go down steep mountains.

But no, I’d miss the calming stillness of the thick white blanket of snow, the snow-covered trees, the breathtaking mountainous expanse, and feeling my smallness at the top of the mountain. In the rugged and unforgiving wildness of winter, I cherish both the reminder of our vulnerability and the sublime peacefulness.

Certainly, I’d miss the excited chatter about an epic jump, rails and grabs, or yet another unexpected tree-smacking, as the guys take off their helmets exposing their hair wet with sweat. These are the stories that life is made of, squeezed out from smiles while adrenaline and exhilaration are still coursing through their veins.

No, it’s not time for me to hang up the towel yet. But having reconnected with what I do love about skiing, I’ve realized it is time to quiet all the well-intentioned “shoulds” about improving. Frankly, I’d rather prioritize my own enjoyment. If I’m not having fun, what’s the point? A blue run, with a controlled cadence that does not invite fear, where I can admire the beauty around me and feel incredibly alive——that’s my idea of fun. And so is hearing all about their shredding and epic stunts and tricks over a warm cup of hot chocolate!

Sometimes, we just need to quiet all the voices around us so we can really hear the one inside us.❤️❤️