how five days in the mountains changed me
I wasn’t expecting a full stop life change after a week-long family vacation.
I’m sitting here, clicking these words out on the other side of a trip that feels indescribable. But, me being me, I’m going to try. To put into words the switch that has flipped inside. The person who left for that trip is not the same one sitting here now.
I knew it was coming. I saw it marked in big bright sharpie on the calendar and had been communicating for weeks organizing travel, accommodations, itineraries. Just thinking about and engaging daily in the preparation made me want to flop on the couch and fall into a deep sleep. Procrastinate. Avoid. Pretend like I didn't have to do all the things that had to be done.
“You never change your life until you step out of your comfort zone; change begins at the end of your comfort zone.”
I grew up in Ohio, so I know winter/cold/gray. There was a reason I left it.
Willingly spending my valuable resources of spare time and energy on equipping us for a ski trip in said cold/winter weather was daunting and made me a little irritated.
I was overwhelmed by all the boxes that needed to be checked. My time was spent Googling things like “best mittens for toddlers,” opening packages filled with base layers, socks, fuzzy hats and hitting multiple local outdoor shops to fit the kids with helmets and goggles.
Cutting off a thousand tags and plastic thingies to wash loads of new clothes laundry that all had to be air dried (thank you, wool).
For a Florida family whose routine involves sunscreen, bathing suits and barefeet, it all seemed like a lot.
The unpredictable weather (will there even be snow?), the wardrobing, the anticipation of learning a new skill in freezing temps with ten layers of clothes, it felt like overkill. Did we really need to do this with a 4 and 8 year old? I was Go Team Go on the outside but lukewarm on the inside.
My other half is a skier. The really good kind who grew up going to ski school with his brothers and a childhood filled with memories on the slopes.
I had never put skis on in my life. I felt compelled by the social norms to introduce our girls to skiing, this winter life experience, but was totally okay being in the that-ship-has-sailed-for-me camp.
I was secretly, terrified.
Combine that fear (looking like an idiot, not “getting” it, injury) with not being sure I was up for the energy, effort and commitment output required to learn and I was a mess.
Skiing looked hard. Intense. Cold. Dangerous.
I would be a beginner.
A full blown start from scratch with the toddlers on the bunny slopes.
Knowing that I would be with my girls and we’d be learning together was what pushed me to the starting line.
This is what I’m supposed to do as a parent, right? Expose them to new experiences that encourage growth, expansion, personal development. Get them out of their comfort zone. Build character by learning new things.
That’s the story I went with because I needed a bigger narrative than a family vacation to get me through another Amazon box filled with boot warmers & airplane activities.
I felt it in my gut that we had to make this happen. For them.
We arrived. It was immediately magical. As we drove from the airport to the lodge a herd of elk galloped in front of our forerunner. Seriously. Fifteen or more huge, beautiful, beasts. Wild, powerful, nature in full force. I took this as a good sign. An omen that mother nature was welcoming us into her mountainous fold.
The sky was blue, sun shining, it was an easy 30ish degrees. Only one layer required.
We went directly to the local pizza place and devoured their best seller (arugula, crispy prosciutto, cheese, big squeeze of lemon), buttery parmesan noodles, a giant soft pretzel with mustard & cheese dippers. Gallons of water. The act of eating made me short of breath. We were feeling our sea level lives walking around at 9,000 feet above.
We explored the colorful, historic, storybook town. No neon signs or Starbucks in sight. Old school, like a stuck in time paradise that makes the rest of the world temporarily fall away. ‘Mom and Pop’ everything. Sheets of icicles dripping from gutters and piles of fluffy white snow.
My skin was immediately dry, hair staticy. I’d shock myself pulling my hat off.
We settled in. Made snow angels, pegged each other with snowballs.
We went to bed early and woke up in the middle of the night thanks to our east coast internal clocks.
And then it was time to layer up and head to the mountain. By 8:30 we were out the door, cozied in the truck for a 10 minute ride to the base of the mountain that buzzed with the anticipation of the day ahead.
Adventure. Adrenaline.
Everything was new to me.
My eyes locked on the chair lift nearby and I silently laughed as I knew that was nowhere in my future.
Planning and preparing for this trip successfully was my win. Everything else was icing on the cake. I’d declared victory by getting us here with mittens and neck warmers and waterproof boots. I was patting myself on the back and along for the ride.
We were greeted by our ski instructors and immediately dove into getting our boots on, making sure we had on enough layers for the temps, the right lens on our goggles for the overcast day and the essential loops around our wrists to keep our gloves on. We zipped our ski cards in our pockets. We were ready.
We started learning. I was a total clean slate. I listened and watched like a crawling baby desperate to walk.
How to hold and carry my skis, how to click my boots in, which one goes first (the downhill one), what to do with my poles.
French fries, pizza, peanut butter and jelly. No longer things to eat but what to do with these sticks on my feet.
Skiing is turning, uphill, dowhill, head on a swivel, bend your ankles, bend the plastic in your boots, relax your body, bend your knees, tilt your waist, let the skis do the work.
Wedge, duck walk, side step.
I listened and absorbed like my life depended on it.
I forgot how intense it is learning something new, from zero. Especially something that had big elements of adventure, danger and the ever present fear of failure and embarrassment. I realized right away that I couldn't get in my head. I had to receive the teachings but let my body do its things.
Less effort, more ease became my mantra.
I had to be light and have fun while in development. I had to embrace failing and doing it wrong in hopes of eventually doing it right. This was easy to do because I had my girls by my side. They were full of play. Laughing, moving, cruising along like they were born in the snow not the sand.
I was amazed. It was a light bulb moment for me.
Kids learn because they are having fun, they are playing. They are also fearless and closer to the ground, which definitely helps. They have no ideas about what it’s supposed to look like. They aren’t judging themselves or listening to an inner critic nailing them with negative self talk.
They radiated confidence. They spoke it out loud - This is fun! This is easy! Come on mom, let’s go!
My 8 year old rocketed through the magic carpet phase and was ready for the chair lift. I was standing there clutching my poles, jaw dropped. I’m not ready! I only put these skis on a few hours ago and you want me to go up there? On that? I had to override every natural instinct within me saying no. The excitement and anticipation radiating off of my daughter’s face and the wide open energy of the mountain lured me into position as I aimed my butt for the circle and let the lift scoop me up, up, up and away.
Lots more rapid fire instruction from my ski guru and me, rapt with attention. It was all the big feels riding up that lift and knowing that I was going to have to make it down using skills that were shaky, untrusted.
I went to my yoga tools of breath, beginner’s mind, softening into the experience.
My palms are sweaty reliving this through words.
I’ve never seen a bigger smile on Sienna’s face as she looked at me through her goggles, feet dangling free. She was my spirit animal, calling me into the wild of the snow.
And then it was time to get off. Lifting the overhead bar, sliding my skis off the foot bar, it all felt fast and simultaneously in slow motion.
“Stand up and lead with your belly button to slide into the clearing at the top of the mountain,” commanded ski guru.
I tried to do all the things and still ended up falling a handful of seconds after I’d cleared the lift. Like my brain overheated my body with too many instructions so it simply collapsed into the safety of the ground.
The fall was helpful. Doing the thing we fear (again and again) chips away at the fear of the thing.
I got up. I laughed. I carried on.
The view was breathtaking. The energy was powerful. I imprinted all the sensations into my being.
And then down the mountain we went. Slowly for me, fast and eager for Sienna. She was learning without poles and she would throw her arms in the air like she was on a roller coaster, her bright red pants disappearing down the mountain. Her energy was contagious and I wanted to keep up so I pushed myself way out of my comfort zone.
I found the magic of letting go.
Out there, where we are scared to go. We don’t get the chance to go there often in our everyday routines and habits but I experienced that ‘out there’ is where it happens. If we are willing to go, to walk, run or ski through the portal, the universe will unleash her magic.
And boy did she ever.
And that was how one day on a mountain a family of skiers was born.
We had done a big thing together. You could feel our connection, our love, the infrastructure of our family tighten, click in at a new level.
The ingredients were perfect; we were away from our regular lives, in the power of nature, learning new skills, outside of our comfort zone.
When we finally took our boots off as the sky mountain light dimmed, I felt euphoric. I kissed my other half longer than usual. I gazed into my girl’s eyes.
Something had happened out there. To me. To us.
We drove back to the lodge, soaked in the hot tub, and savored long hot showers. We pulled on cozy clothes and curled up by the fire, watching Bluey on repeat. We were exhausted in that kind of way that is deep and satisfying. We could barely stay awake for a light dinner and were asleep by 7.
I closed my eyes and prayed. Thankful for all of it, this trip that was about skiing and not about skiing.
It was about family, love, connection. Using an experience to knit us together in a deeper way. To know ourselves in a new way and to leave this place different from the versions that arrived.
Magic lies just outside our comfort zone. I was ready to test that theory again tomorrow and again and again and again.
And the next morning we got that chance. This time, we knew what the day ahead looked like and we were geared up ready to go, 8:30 on the dot.
The girls once again took my breath away with their fearlessness, confidence, and complete trust in following this new experience. Again and again, go up, come down. This moving meditation in the snow had captivated us all. Something happened up there on the mountain and every time you were greeted by it you could feel it but not quite name it.
Our final day we went up to another mountain via snowcat. The hour plus ride had us wide eyed and speechless. The hum of the machine that carried us, the altitude, the bigness, it put Aster to sleep in my arms while I took in God’s canvas of nature, surrounding us like a bear hug.
We arrived at a cabin in the middle of nowhere 12,000 feet above the sea. We stepped into fresh snow, the smell of campfire and the anticipation of adventure.
Snow shoeing, skiing, snowmobile rides, sledding. We did it all. Stopping for small breaks around the fire to warm our fingers & toes, a few bites of a granola bar. Then out we’d go. On repeat until we felt that deep happiness mixed with exhaustion that only being in nature can give you.
Time for s’mores. We sat outside, round the fire, turning the marshmallow until it reached peak golden meltyness and mushing it with chocolate and graham crackers.
In that moment, surrounded by God’s great masterpiece, my family and the adrenaline of really living swirling through my veins, I felt gratitude, love and awe for my life. For my family and all those who made this experience happen for us. I can remember the moment, I paused and imprinted it into my being. It had all changed me.
As we headed back to town, my life lens had a new angle, a fresh hue.
Made possible by stepping out of the known, my comfort zone, and into the place that made me squirm.
The place that was far out of my norm, where I lacked control and certainty.
This is where the magic lies. Out there, in that place that scares you, but calls to you.
We walked around town, doing all the we’re not from here things: finding the local ice cream shop (yes, after s’mores and yes, in freezing snow), buying t-shirts, sweatshirts, a christmas ornament, stickers for Sienna’s camp trunk.
I loved everything more. My life, my people, myself. I felt limitless. If I could do this, what else might I have mentally written off out of fear? What else is waiting for me?
I’ve had it wrong. That’s not the list of things to avoid, it’s the compass that shows me where to go next.