Last week, during winter break, we took a short ski trip. Nothing epic – just a quick getaway to a Midwestern hill to spend time outside together. No towering peaks or backcountry adventures. But it ended up being the finest ski trip I’ve ever had.
As a parent of three kids, one-on-one time is rare. It’s even trickier when one of those kids is five years old with an enormous personality that demands constant attention. Add in the fact that my oldest, now 14, is entering that phase where independence is king and parents lose their cool factor – and finding time to really connect can feel like trying to schedule a solar eclipse.
But sometimes, life conspires in your favor. Circumstances aligned, and I found myself with six uninterrupted hours on the slopes with my son. No forced deep conversations. Just time spent together, side by side, figuring things out as we went.
Now, my son and I are different creatures. At his age, I was all adrenaline and action. Sports were my outlet, and anything that got my heart racing was my playground. He’s more cautious, drawn to books, art, and music. Our first ski trip, two years ago, was spent entirely on the bunny hill. He improved slowly, but progress stalled because discomfort wasn’t something he was eager to invite.
This trip started the same way. We stayed on the beginner slope for a while, his focus squarely on everything that felt off. Cold fingers, weird boots, sore knees from his first fall. And the what-ifs… What if I fall? What if someone crashes into me?
About an hour in, I nudged him onto the lift for a longer, moderate run. He hesitated, nervous because he couldn’t see the entire slope from the top. But skiing – like life – doesn’t give you the full view in advance. You move forward, adjusting as the next section reveals itself. One turn at a time.
At first, he was shaky. Keeping his speed low made him more unsteady, and he fell twice on the way down. Frustration followed, but he agreed to try again. His cousins had joined us, and peer pressure can sometimes be a blessing.
On the next lift ride, we talked about trust – not just in the skis but in himself. Progress, I reminded him, often comes when we embrace a little uncertainty. The goal isn’t to stay perfectly still, but to respond to what’s next as it arrives. Like driving through fog. You don’t wait for the entire road to be clear. You go as far as you can see, and when you get there, you can see a little further.
This time, he let himself go just a bit faster.
He didn’t fall.
It wasn’t graceful or perfect. But he stayed upright. And that made it fun.
At the bottom, his grin said it all. “That was okay,” he shrugged, but I saw the spark. We went again. And again. Each time he trusted himself a little more. Each time he got a little better. Eventually, he asked to try a different run.
On the lift, I told him how proud I was. He nodded and said something I’ll never forget:
“It’s fun after you’re scared.”
So we skied. Run after run. No falling. More laughing. Lots of smiles.
At the end of the day, when everyone was exhausted after the “last run,” my sister-in-law asked “does anyone want to go one more time?” Her daughters were done- cashed out and whipped by the day’s exercise. But Ben?
“Sure. Let’s go,” he said.
That’s life, isn’t it? Taking a new job. Moving to a different city. Finding purpose after the loss of someone you love. Life after divorce. The scariest parts often come just before the best moments.
Trusting the forward momentum is big work. Messy, awkward, and painful work. But when we lean into it, small victories build. Confidence snowballs. The unknown starts to feel a little less threatening, and maybe even exciting.
Soon, we’re facing bigger hills and realizing we’re capable of more than we thought. We show up differently for ourselves and others, with the belief that we’ll figure out the next turn when we get there.
Parenting after divorce has its share of awkward, messy, and scary moments. The things that divided the marriage don’t disappear, and kids pick up on more than we sometimes realize. Rebuilding the parent-child bond takes intention, and finding shared ground can take trial and error.
Sometimes, it takes a snowy hill and a little momentum to remind us: progress happens when we let go, even just a little.
