For the past two weeks, the big hills have demanded more of all of six of us.  What an experience to have as a family.  We have all looked downhill and needed some courage, most days of the week. 

For me: I want to point my skis downhill.  Yet I recognize my tendency to face an enormous hill by going back and forth, almost perpendicular to the slope.  The steeper the hill, the more control I feel, by enhancing the tension and the conflict with gravity.  

Such are the big devastating messes in our lives.  They demand more of a fight of us.  And in resisting, in fighting, in creating conflict with the mess, pushing back, somehow our path feels clearer and controlled.  

When I go slow, when the hill is small, I seem to waver more, over-thinking, over-analyzing, prone to misstep.  But when the hills are steep, they demand more of me.  My head and my body are present.  I will rise to the challenge.

I am now in tune with the precise moments of my hesitation, the times I can’t let go and point my skis downhill, parallel with the steep slope. I see my tendency towards the perpendicular, towards the resistance. I feel safe, I feel control. My brain tells me I’ll lose control. My brain tells me I won’t be able to regain the feeling of safety and comfort that I have in that split second. I won’t come back to this comfortable pace. Every once and a while, I’d point those suckers downhill, only to pull back, slicing at an angle to slow things back down. I am skiing, but am I learning to point my skis downhill?

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