Shoosh

I find few things more powerful than changing my mind about myself. For 30 years I hauled around the belief that I was an impaired skier, forever doomed to re-learn the snowplow. Never mind that I was on skis for maybe a day every 10 years or so, and that was facilitated by little or no instruction. I just didn’t have what it took.

When Scott and I went to Snowmass for a week in March, I was determined that no matter what my skill level was (and we know what that was, don’t we?), I was going to have a good time. As soon as we’d rented our equipment and procured lift tickets, Scott signed me up for a half-day lesson with a pro. I had great hope and great trepidation. What if despite a solid block of time with the best, I was still hopeless? But… what if I wasn’t? And what did I have to lose? I remembered all my Shakti Gawain lessons and began creatively visualizing the best.

My instructor was Bob MacLean, a seasoned veteran of life and the slopes. He started me off in a remote area (far from the possible taunts of the heartless) on a slope even less intimidating than my driveway. We went through some simple exercises that were easy and gave me the first taste of success. After about 30 minutes, I graduated; and we went to a slightly more challenging area where children were being instructed. I used a pom lift without falling on my ass, and felt quite proud when, following Bob’s guidance, I made it down that little incline with skis and dignity intact. More exercises followed—still elementary, but increasing in their level of challenge, followed by another graduation to The Real Chairlift.

Three hours from the start of my lesson, I was a different person. I was a skier. A beginning skier, but a skier who was competent, balanced, shooshing, and laughing with the exhilaration of flying down a hill. Sometimes change is not hell at all, but much closer to a big chunk of heaven.