When I was in high school (or so), I had the great opportunity to go with my church group to go snow-skiing several times. First, I went to Winter Park in Colorado, and then Purgatory, also in Colorado––both during ideal skiing conditions. It was so much fun seeing the awesome mountains (usually something us Texans only see pictures of) and snow (again…not so much for Texans), which made the whole trip an experience in and of itself. I remember the smell of the buses’ diesel engines and the hustle bustle of getting our luggage loaded and then finding the perfect seat hopefully with someone I wanted to spend twelve hours traveling next to. It was something I looked forward to for many months each year.
Then came Crested Butte.
I never really understood how the whole “base” of snow at ski resorts worked, so when I heard that Crested Butte ‘only’ had 13″ of base, I thought “awesome…that’s thirteen inches more snow than what we have here. What I didn’t realize was how dramatically this lack of snow base was about to change things. Previously, I would ski down the Blue (Medium) slopes with an occasional Black (Advanced) thrown in to prove my machismo to all the people watching me––usually a large crowd of three.
This particular year, when we arrived at the resort, my macho friends and I didn’t want to waste time, so we headed for the first black slope we could find. My friend Dale and I adjusted our goggles and yelled “cowabunga” as we went head first down the very steep slope. It was all fun and games until about a hundred yards in to the run, when I realized I was not skiing on snow anymore…it was ice…and lots of it! Suddenly, I had virtually NO control over the direction of my skis, or the accelerating speed at which I was traveling. With absolutely no control and WAY too much speed, it wasn’t long until I hit a mogul and was thrown spread eagle into the air like a day old donut being tossed over a fence to waiting hounds. BAM! I hit the ground, and decided right then that skiing was not fun anymore.
I tossed, crumpled, rolled and twisted in ways our bodies were not designed or intended. All I remember was seeing a snow cloud, an occasional ski or pole, ground, sky, ground, sky ground sky…before I eventually skidded to a stop. I had wiped out at least three times further than I had initially skied down the hill.
I came to rest on the side of the ski run next to a pine tree that God had planted to keep me from rolling all the way to the base of the mountain. Directly above me was the ski lift. I know this because I could hear eruptions of laughter mixed with an occasional inquiries: “Dude…are you okay?” As I slowly regained clarity and got my bearings, I opened my eyes and saw a large patch of red snow under my head…not good. I then seemed to recall, at some point during my fall, feeling a ski hit the back of my head. I slowly reached around and touched my head and then looked at my hand…no blood. Cool!
Well…not so cool. It was at this point I swallowed and realized my mouth was full of blood. I had bitten my tongue almost in half! Once I saw the nearly severed lower tongue piece dangling, I freaked and grabbed a bunch of show and crammed it in my mouth while trying to re-align the pieces of my tongue so they were in the right position. It hurt..a lot. But I kept cramming snow in there. I eventually started to get up and look for all my gear. It was like a scene from Charlie Brown when Lucy would move the football at the last second before Charlie Brown could kick the ball. One of my skis had decided to continue down the trail without me and one of my ski poles had broken…possibly in my leg. I was a mess. After a while, here came the Calvary. The ski patrol dudes had snow mobiles with one of those planks to put dead skiers on. None of the Ski Patrol asked me any questions, because it took less than a second to see the blood streaming from my mouth and all over my clothes. I kept the snow packed in as much as I could. Long story short, I saved my tongue, no stitches, back on the slopes the next day.
What is it about ruts that feels so ‘safe’? When we arrive at a point, either physically or situationally, that has been obviously navigated by someone before us, we tend to be drawn towards their path. For all we know, it leads to a black slope with a well-positioned pine tree waiting for us to smash into. Sometimes ruts can serve a good purpose: when we are at a point of unsure footing and need help with where to go next. Skiing on snow and skiing on ice are two totally different things––I learned. Virtually no control is not a good feeling. The point is: proceed with wisdom and consideration. I’d be leery of following in the ruts of someone who has a history of misfortune or a poor decision-making.
Messing up is not a sign for you to stop doing something; it could simply be a sign that there might be a better way of doing something. It means (as my inventor friend used to say) “You’re one step closer to getting it right”. That tape certainly played in my head as I lay there in the pile of red snow. It was pretty clear that there had to be a better way of doing this.
Be willing to find new paths, make new memories, create your own new ruts. Sometimes those ruts we have been in for a long time aren’t really helping us as much as they are holding us back–or putting us on a course for disaster.
During this whole COVID 19 pandemic, it has been amazing to see how drastically and how fast we have changed GLOBALLY. But you know what? It may not be necessarily that bad of a deal. We have slowly adapted to what we thought was “normal” based on repetition and ruts. Seldom have we stopped to ask if just because we could…that we should. I believe this whole pandemic is going to expose several things that we have become desensitized and complacent to. I think there will be much more thought given to creating new ruts. Maybe working from home. Having one or two theaters instead of twenty showing a dozen features each. Restaurants may become a ‘treat’ to go once again instead of picking from the thirty that line the streets and have poor service and average food. Imagine… getting back to making things special again. Everyone seems has a degree these days…so what’s the point? Obviously, if you are going in to a career that requires specializations, then by all means, please go to school. But why does everyone feel like they need to get degrees in business or finance and then work at Starbucks or in landscaping for the rest of their lives? All that’s happened is the value of a degree has been watered down. I have seen many a young person come away from college with more bad social influences and habits than actual education. College life has become a huge party excuse that has led to the devaluation of degree plans and only served to postpone young people’s urgency to get started with their careers. But that’s just MY opinion…take it or leave it.
While we seek valuable relationships and experiences, we need to be ever wise to know when others’ ruts are okay to coast in, and when they represent an opportunity to set out on our own to explore, create and experience life from our own perspective. Sliding out of control may feel scary at the time, but before long you will find yourself back in the fluffy snow. Just be patient and surround yourself with people who will support you and guide you.