For the past month, I have been busting my ass for what feels like an unguaranteed result. Everyday I question whether my efforts will amount to the outcome that I am chasing.
I grew up as an athlete. Since the age of 5, my mother threw me in every sport under the sun as an attempt to focus my uncontrollable vivacious spirit. There isn’t a sport I can’t pick up quickly.
Skiing was a sport that always terrified me. During my time at Brown, my coach always cautioned us against skiing during championship season because the casualties that she experienced during the most crucial moments of her career were not far and few between. My mother tore her ACL skiing after her ski got stuck in a powdery mogul. Therefore, the only thought at the forefront of my conscious was the possibility of knee injuries from the inexorable fall that was looming in my future. After our family ski trips ended at the age of 8, I somehow avoided every opportunity to face my fear.
A couple of years ago, I found myself back on the slopes for a boy. The inner D1 athlete in me was determined to keep up and thus I found myself at the top of a black diamond.
East coast skiing should be renamed to ice skating. The variability in temperature fluctuations, the lack of snow fall, and the ongoing cycle of: rain, low temperatures and frozen rain, creates the perfect storm for a different type of brutal. The monster I decided to slay that day was nothing but a thin layer of snow on a 3,000 ft long patch of ice.
Eager to prove my athletic prowess, I jumped into the challenge with vigor. The first section of the hill was fantastic. I felt the edges of my skis effortlessly create S-like divots in the mountain. I was one with the slope.
The second hill was the steepest part of the slope, but that didn’t matter. I was unstoppable with my new-found confidence that I gained from the first hill. Like the variability of east coast weather, my tempered demeanor quickly turned frantic when my greatest fear became a reality. I felt my ski slip on ice, I lost my balance, and I began to tumble down the mountain like a rag doll. When my body, covered in snow and bruises from the gravity of my mistake, finally reached the bottom of the hill, I was in a relentless pursuit to conquer my beast.
I was in a rinse and repeat cycle for the next 7 runs, crushing the first half, eating shit in the second. With every tumble, every preconceived notion I had of faith in myself quickly dissipated with every foot I fell down that hill.
There comes a point when it’s time to throw in your cards and walk away. On the 8th run, I felt myself reach that point. As I stared down the second part of the hill, I felt tears well up in my eyes. I was battered, bruised, and defeated. I decided to take off my skis and visualize the potential outcomes of what was to come. There were two outcomes: an outcome that I craved, and another that I dread.
Everyday we wake up, we have a choice. Each day is a new possibility. The outcome of your day is not dependent on the day before, the minute before, or the second before the present. You have the power to choose, pursue, and create your present moment. I was faced with a choice. I could view every previous fall as a reason to listen to the negative voices in my head that told me that I would not conquer the second hill. Or, I could view each previous fall as one step closer to reaching the bottom of the second hill on my two skis. I was in control of my fate.
One last time, I decided to take a leap of faith. The flow state is a mental state of total focus in an activity. You can observe musicians in this state when they become so immersed in their music that their spiritual bodies are no longer in “the real world”. Big wave surfers reach this state when their lives are at the stake of their focus. It is the state of my life that I seek to live in. When I am in the flow state, I feel the entire world go quiet. Here, my true existence is felt. The incessant negative voices go into hibernation, and I feel like I can finally breathe.
My pure uninterrupted focus was in each moment, one turn at a time. With each turn, I felt myself effortlessly shifting my weight from one ski to the other. When I completed my last turn and reached the bottom of the second hill, I once again felt tears well up in my eyes, but this time out of joy.
As I continue to bust my ass for what feels like an unguaranteed result, I will not lose sight of the fact that every fall is knowingly one in a forward direction.
[3/7/2025 3:02 PM]
Goddamn boys