This afternoon I literally stumbled on to something, one of those flashes of truth that are instructive in the in-the-moment micro world and point to a larger truth, question, or at least a lesson.
We were on our second day of X-country skiing in the mountains outside Glacier National Park. We ski a couple hours a day for a week once a year. It’s enough to enjoy it, but not enough to get much better at the sport. I was facing my first big downhill this season on a groomed trail and I knew somewhere I would fall. You see, I never learned to stop. Without that trick up your sleeve, any steep downhill brings out a sweat like no uphill climb ever can.
I couldn’t see very far ahead because of the curves in the trail. Dragging your poles is not only ineffective, it’s cowardly. After about the first 20 yards, I was dragging my poles for all I was worth and still gaining speed. I made it through the first three curves just fine. The trail got a bit steeper and a thought came charging into my mind. “Bail out now before it gets worse!” “Hummm,” I answered. Even though I was still on my skis and not that close to the edge of losing control, bailing out sounded better and better by the nanosecond.
“Yep, you are right!” and down I went, only 30 feet from where the trail leveled off. I gave up. I gave up to avoid an imaginary danger. I took the road of the peaceful chicken instead of the peaceful warrior.
I can’t help but wonder, where else in life do I act like a chicken?
