Why I Write
This week I’ve been in Twin Mountain, New Hampshire spending time with family. With school still remote, I got the chance to take my classes with me to the mountains. We planned to simply spend quality time with the people around us, spend time outside in nature, and relax and recharge. Learning to ski was not in the plan, but when your uncle’s girlfriend, Kristin, (who’s never taught anyone to ski before) offers to teach you, you take her up on the offer. So with snow pants that were too big and ski boots that fit just right, we headed for the slopes.
I started on the bunny slope, as any newbie does. My other uncle, Greg, has a cabin at the bottom of the bunny slope, so we got our gear on at his place and hopped on the slope so I could get a small feel for what skiing was like. I quickly picked up how to turn and stop, and off to the ski lift we went. I’m going to brag on myself for a second because I can: not once did I miss the lift or fall while getting off of it. I’ve been told most beginners can’t even get off the lift without doing something wrong, so apparently, I was doing pretty great.
I was shocked at how easy my body was learning something new. In the past, it took me a long time to get the hang of something new, but this time it was different. It was almost as if the fear of not learning and missing out on an incredible opportunity was bigger than the fear of learning and failing.
After about an hour or two of staying on the bunny slope, Kristin and I decided I was ready to try a beginner run. A different ski lift took us about 3,000 feet up Mt. Rosebrook. The higher the lift took us, the cooler it got. Once we got to the top, the main lodge was completely out of sight. The sky cleared to our left, giving us a view of Mt. Washington and the cog railway. All around us the trees were heavy under the weight of snow, which was more powdery than the bunny slope. I was scared, to say the least. But I took a deep breath and gave it a go.
After many falls and getting stuck in deep snow off the run, my uncle came to help me out. He taught me to look forward, not at my feet, and to always keep my head up, eyes on the bottom of the slope. With Greg a few feet in front of me and Kristin behind me- both of them boosting my confidence with their words and cheers- I felt safe, even through the fear.
Every time I started to lose my confidence, my focus would shift, or when I recovered well from a bad turn, my uncle would yell “Look at this! It’s her first day!!” and everybody on the slope and lift would cheer for me, clapping their hands, so excited to have someone new join their sport. I thought that coming in I would feel intimidated and nervous (not so much about falling, but getting back up), but not once did I feel unwelcome. Even though I could never get up gracefully after a fall, there was always a hand waiting to help me up.
Many times while going down the Range View slope, I thought I couldn’t do it. My knee was hurting from all the falls. I was having trouble getting into a groove after taking breaks. But every time I took one, my uncle had me turn around and look at how far I had come. It fueled a fire in me to continue. So I persisted, not wanting to give up, and finally, after pushing myself, I made it to the base of the mountain. I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of myself in my entire life. And everyone around me was proud of me too. I was exhausted and hungry but so unbelievably happy.
There was this moment when I got down to the bottom of the mountain where all I could think about was wanting to remember this moment forever. I had this sense of connection and community to a bunch of strangers I would probably never see again for the rest of my life, and yet it felt so comfortable and so real.
This is why I write. Because I want to remember everything…both the amazingly good and the utterly bad. When I’m old and losing my memory, I want to be able to look back on these moments and remember how much I lived. I want to remember how I got through hard things and how much I accomplished. I want to re-meet all the people I met and relive all the experiences we shared. And I never ever want to miss a thing. This is why I write. Because while I have the pictures and bruises to prove that I did this, that I did something scary, I never want to forget this feeling.
The next day I went to the mountain with Kristin. I started on the bunny slope again to remind myself what I was doing. My technique improved with every go. I was ready for another big run, so up the lift we went. This time we went down Avalon. We were surrounded by monstrous mountains and snow-heavy trees, like a scene out of a storybook, so surreal that pictures can’t justify how incredibly beautiful it was. It was a lot flatter and easier for me to ski down. And I didn’t fall once while skiing. I finished the whole run and even though I went a lot slower than most of the other skiers, I was encouraged the entire way down.
Falling is bound to happen in life, just make sure that when it’s time to get back up, you look to those around you for help and take their hand. It also helps to remember that mountains are never as big as they seem, especially when you’ve got good people by your side to make them feel smaller. Just keep your head up, don’t look down at your feet (or skis), and enjoy what’s all around you.
