Don't Look Past the Tips of Your Skis

Years ago, when I lived in the Pacific Northwest, my dad and I learned how to downhill ski together. Every so often, we'd pile into the car at some god-awful hour in the morning, drive awhile to some breathtaking mountain that I took for granted then but miss desperately now, and we'd spend the day skiing. Being a fearless teenager, my method of skiing was to point my skis straight downhill and attempt to break the sound barrier on every run. Of course, some runs went better for me than others. My dad, being of a much sounder mind, chose to take a more conservative approach to the slopes--one that did not involve him hitting the ground at 187 mph in a cloud of powder and expletives. He found that it was rather intimidating to stand at the top of a slope and look all the way to the bottom, so he focused on the tips of his skis, took things nice and slowly, dealt with what was right in front of him, and before long, he was at the bottom of the mountain. He reminded himself not to look past the tips of his skis.

That mantra became a metaphor for life in general. I had to remind myself of that strategy recently when things became a little overwhelming in my world. I'm in one of those times right now that everyone experiences, where everything seems to be going wrong. I made the mistake recently of looking all the way down the mountain, and the thought of navigating the slope all the way down was terrifying and overwhelming. So as the weight of my world was crushing me, I was reminded of my dad's words: don't look past the tips of your skis. Take one challenge at a time, deal with it the best I can, and move on to the next challenge. I'm older now, and I can't bounce right back up from spectacular wrecks like I used to in my youth. Plus, I have a wife and two daughters who are strapped onto my skis with me now. Pointing my skis straight downhill just isn't an option anymore.

By focusing on the tips of my skis, I already feel better, and I'll focus on one challenge at a time. Before long, I'll be at the bottom of the mountain and ready to take the lift back up to the top again. Thanks, Dad.