Last week, I had the chance to go skiing with my brother for the first time in two years. Whenever we ski together, it seems like something eventful happens. We've ended up lost in the woods, stuck in deep powder, and even having to hitchhike back to the resort from the highway (no wonder the snow was untouched on that run). This time, however, I thought that we had gotten away with a normal, fun day of skiing.
The resort had just gotten about nine inches of snow the night before and we were having a blast even though the conditions were pretty windy. I was using my brand new skis for the first time and I was loving them as well. Towards the end of the day, when we had decided that we only had one or two more runs in us, my legs were getting tired and I wasn't turning as much as I probably should have. I got going a little too fast and hit a pocket of powder. The tip of my right ski dug in and was ripped off my foot and I continued on my left ski for a couple of seconds before sliding and crashing in a heap.
As I looked up, I saw only saw one ski about 20 feet above me. Looking around, I couldn't make out my other bright orange ski in the snow. I hiked up the steep incline inch by inch through the deep powder to retrieve my ski and then began trying to find my other one. My brother was already at the bottom so he called me to see what was taking so long. I told him that I couldn't find my ski and he headed back to the lift to come down above me and help me look.
I reasoned that my ski must have been above me because I had continued on my other ski for a while and then slid quite a ways. I started making my way up, trying to trace my path, by using my one ski to dig into the snow horizontally and then pulling myself up.
A couple of people tried to help me but one guy stood out the most. Many people came and went, asking if I had lost my ski, looking for a few seconds, and then wishing me luck. This guy, however, came back three times to help me look. After the third time, I expressed my gratitude that he had helped even though both of our efforts had been fruitless. He responded that he had helped because he hoped someone else would have done the same for him. It's so easy to recite the Golden Rule, but here someone was living it to the fullest. Though he didn't succeed in helping me find my ski, he left an even greater impression on me of how I should treat others.
Over an hour went by and I had gone up and down the mountain around the area where I thought my ski had been buried, and I all I had to show for it was exhaustion. During that time, I experienced many emotions. Initially, I was optimistic but that optimism soon gave way to anger over potentially losing a brand new ski. The anger gave way to sadness and sadness turned to desperation as I pulled myself up the steep mountainside and then trundled back down over and over. Finally, I ended up accepting the situation. I had worked as hard as I could at finding my ski, others had helped me, but I wasn't going to find it. I accepted that the situation was out of my control and that the only thing I could control was my reaction. I decided that losing my ski didn't discount the fun that I'd had with my brother leading up to that. Yes, losing my ski was going to suck but it was a fact I couldn't change.
I had my brother go get ski patrol and they came back with a pair of skis I could use to get down the mountain. As I was getting ready to put on the loaner skis, I stepped on something hard and bright orange. I had found my ski less than 10 feet away from where I had initially landed. I guess the ski I had found was the first one that fell off and I had been looking in the completely wrong place.
Happy I had found my ski we went down the mountain and headed home with a few lessons in mind:
Living the Golden Rule requires real empathy and effort
Don't fight an outcome you can't control, accept it and move on
Sometimes things work out despite doing all the wrong things, someone else is looking out for us
Comments