When I was a kid, the world was a playground of possibilities, and I was encouraged to dive into everything. Fast forward to my 20s, and the mantra shifted: find your path, create a plan. Now, in my 40s, it seems the advice is circling back to trying new experiences. Who would have thought that revisiting my own failures would ultimately be my greatest teacher?
Growing up on the West Coast, I spent holidays in Sunriver, a charming resort town near Mt. Bachelor. Skiing was the winter pastime, and despite my athleticism, I never quite mastered it. I remember my first solo run – a complete disaster. My fear of descending that snowy mountain was so overwhelming that they had to stop the lift and reverse it just to get me off. At that moment, I decided skiing was not for me.
Fast forward two decades, and I found myself a new mom in the Adirondacks with my husband, Ryan. “How about a ski trip this weekend?” he suggested, optimism radiating from him. “I don’t want to be away from the baby that long,” I replied, sticking to my guns for the next three years as we welcomed two more daughters. When the girls were 4, 6, and 8, Ryan tried again: “Let’s teach them to ski.”
The memories of my past skiing failures flashed before me. I hesitated, not wanting to risk my newfound confidence as a mom by facing another uphill battle—literally. But the Adirondack winters are long and cold, and I craved some active family fun.
“Fine,” I finally conceded, “but I cannot guarantee how the girls will do. There are three of them and only two of us.” Deep down, I was worried about my own abilities.
Ryan’s face lit up, and he threw his arm around me. “We’ll figure it out.”
We embarked on a mission to gather gear for our girls—mittens, snow pants, and jackets. With a mix of new purchases, rentals, and hand-me-downs, we kept costs manageable. We practiced getting dressed and learned the hard way that bathroom breaks are essential before gearing up. As our preparations progressed, my anxiety grew, but once we bought the lift tickets, I knew I had to face my fears.
We began on the bunny hill, and soon enough, Ryan took the older girls up the lift while the youngest stayed with me. I was pleasantly surprised to see her embrace skiing with enthusiasm. Before I knew it, our Saturdays became dedicated to the slopes, and our daughters’ colorful ski gear became as much a part of our lives as their favorite toys.
One Friday, Ryan suggested, “Want to head to the mountain and go in late to work?” At first, I was confused—skiing had always been a family affair. But I agreed.
As we ascended the lift, without our trio to dress and assist, I felt a pang of nostalgia but also excitement. Sitting there together, his hand on my knee, I couldn’t help but smile. The sun broke through the clouds, illuminating the snowy trees, and I realized how close I had come to missing this moment.
Revisiting skiing turned out to be a blessing for our family. It brought us closer together, but it also allowed Ryan to share something he loved with me. Nearly four years later, we still hit the slopes, and every trip reminds me that sometimes stepping outside our comfort zones can lead to unexpected joy. Embracing skiing again has rekindled my confidence in overcoming failure. I wouldn’t change my feelings as a kid, but I can now tell my children—and myself—that growth is possible and we can always have another shot at things if we’re brave enough to take them.
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Summary: This article chronicles the author’s personal journey of overcoming past failures through the lens of motherhood and marriage. By revisiting skiing after years of avoiding it, she learns valuable lessons about growth, family bonding, and the importance of stepping out of comfort zones.