In the winter of ’03 or ’04 I was invited to go skiing for the first time in my life by my best friend and his brother. We made our way over to the small “mountain” resort, rented some skis, and declined the complimentary training.
I was very much inadequately prepared for what I was about to do. I was wearing a warm snow suit, which was designed for snowmobiling, but also limited my mobility. My gloves were cheap, and didn’t do much to keep the water at bay. Thin silk-like material on the outside, with a light patch of rubber grip in the palm.
We adorned our skis and made our way to the bunny hill.
The bunny hill was a slow, gradual incline with maybe a 15% grade overall. There were small gullies placed strategically throughout to give the impression of a well-rounded training. I grabbed hold of the lift rope which was there to assist in the ascent to the staging area at the top.
Between the garbage gloves and my inexperienced grip, I began to feel the coarse rope slip through my hands. Slightly more experienced and (even more embarrassing) younger skiers began to pile up right behind me. At one point I’m pretty sure I had to step aside and let a few of them pass.
Right now it feels like I am living that metaphor. Life is granting me a lot of good things right now; I have a great new son (holy crap), I’ve found out that my wife is a super mom (thank god), and work presents some interesting opportunities/challenges (hmm?).
Sometimes you grab hold and hang on, other times you feel life slipping between your cold, numb fingers.