© Copyright 2007, Mountain Kids Magazine, LLC

Archives
Summer 2006
Winter 2006
Summer 2007

Photo Album
Download the print magazine

Wanted: Photos for our Photo Album! Submit a favorite photo of your family's fun time in Gunnison or Crested Butte. Details here.

She loved it. Tucked safely within my wide snow plow and wrapped securely in my arms, she had nothing to fear. The speed and rush of cold air in her face thrilled her. Cresting the slightest bump made her feel as if she was flying. As she squealed and cheered me on-"Faster, Mommy! Faster!"-- I marveled at what it must be like to experience this sensation for the first time, how raw and exciting it must feel. I couldn't reach back far enough into my own memory to a time when skiing was wholly new, when its many delights arrived without the filters of expectation, desire, or fear. She was fully immersed in the moment, and the moment certainly didn't disappoint.

Beginner's mind. I'm not sure I had the insight to fully appreciate it that first day of skiing with my daughter-so busy was I keeping track of gear, holding her up, soothing her after breaking the news that toddlers don't actually get to ski with poles-but sometime that season I began to really watch her, and to learn.

Beginner's mind is the Zen concept of being fully present in each moment without grasping for anything else. It is the mind that is free of preconceptions and prejudices, able to immerse in the now, fully awake to the wonder of what is. Previous to skiing with my daughter, I hadn't realized how automatic skiing had become for me-- fun, challenging, even exhilarating at times, yet still automatic in the sense that I popped on my skis each time with certain expectations of what the experience would offer. I "knew" and was quite attached to my favorite runs, conditions, and skiing partners; I carried into every turn latent fears about reinjuring my knee and frustrations about time limits or my old equipment; I repeatedly whizzed past forests full of life without thought of venturing off the designated slopes and into that sacred stillness. I confess: after a lifetime of skiing, I didn't really love it anymore. My daughter helped me to realize why. I unknowingly approached it in the way most adults approach our entire lives: with a mind heavy with concerns and already made up about things, a mind closed in so many ways to true curiosity, wonder, and amazement.

While I was supposedly teaching my daughter how to ski, her beginner's mind was constantly discovering possibilities my "expert mind" had forgotten. From her intrigue at the strange fit of the boots as she slalomed through the living room, to her celebration of every diminutive detail once we actually ventured down the slopes, my child's first season of skiing carried far more intimacy with the sport than did my thirtieth. Every aspect of the experience held equal fascination. She eagerly anticipated the lift as if it were a carnival ride. From there she studied the shapes of the clouds, spotted birds and porcupines camouflaged in the forest, and counted the necklaces hanging from the bead trees. She cried about the cold when it felt uncomfortable, and she savored the sun on her face when it felt good. During our long breaks, she perched in a deck chair to keenly observe the bizarre new land of the ski area or coo at the hot chocolate's warm journey down her throat. It was all part of the richness of the moment. She did not need specific conditions to be in awe- it was enough to merely be there, investigating this new phenomenon from what Zen practitioners believe to be the wisest perspective, that of not knowing. "Be willing to not know," Zen master Suzuki Roshi has written, "Not knowing is nearest."

My daughter is now ten years old, and she still loves to ski. She is not a double black diamond ripper or a thrill-seeking racer like many of her friends. She is a graceful, joyful skier who confidently goes at her own pace, loves to detour into the forest, and still counts the necklaces on the bead trees. The last eight years that we have skied together have been my favorite seasons of my adult life. Her beautiful beginner's mind endures and, through her example, mine continues to grow. She has taught me that, on or off the slopes, taking our inner beginner onto the "expert" terrain of adulthood can return to us the expansive sense of possibilities that children intuitively see in all things. I can't always apply it, but at least I've discovered the secret to regaining my love for skiing, and pretty much anything else I do for that matter: do it like a kid.

And just in case either my daughter or I need a reminder about the wisdom of a fully awake and open mind, we now have her little brother on the slopes with us. He passionately hoots and hollers at every miniscule "jump" and takes as much joy in a smooth series of turns as he does a ride up Painter Boy or a good cookie at the top. Beginner's mind. It gives a whole new meaning to the green circles and black diamonds that define our paths. I've learned a lot by following my children. They don't know where they are going or exactly how they'll get there, and they'll celebrate that "not knowing" all the way.

Click here to return to Features main page.