Boomer's Lessons: Finding Growth on the Slopes
- Michelle Porter
- Mar 20
- 7 min read
"I can't do this."
Those four words echoed loudly in my mind as I stood at the halfway point of a ski run called "Boomer" seven years ago. I stared down what looked like a near-vertical drop, my heart pounding in my ears. Every muscle in my body tensed as I contemplated the blue run ahead. I was frozen – not from the mountain cold, but from a deep, visceral fear. Though it was officially rated as a regular blue run, in that moment, it might as well have been a black diamond - at least to my novice eyes.
That day, I eventually inched my way down in a series of tentative, awkward movements that barely resembled skiing. I finished the run feeling both relief and frustration, convinced that runs like Boomer would always exist at the edge of my capability, a reminder of my limitations.
Fast forward to my most recent ski trip, and I found myself gravitating to that same run – the full Boomer run, starting from the very top – as my "grounding" experience. The run that once terrified me had somehow transformed into my warm-up lap, my end-of-day comfort, my go-to when I needed to feel centered on the mountain. What had been a source of fear had become a source of joy.
This transformation wasn't the result of some magical breakthrough or dramatic intervention. There was no single moment where everything suddenly clicked. Instead, it was the product of something far less glamorous but ultimately more powerful: consistent engagement over time, partly fueled by necessity.
You see, one of my favorite lifts accessed terrain where Boomer became unavoidable. My only alternative was riding the gondola down – not exactly the skiing experience I was after! What started as a necessary challenge gradually transformed into a chosen path. If I wanted to enjoy that part of the mountain, I had to navigate a series of challenging sections: first the steep beginning of Kokopelli. Check. Next, an upper section of Eclipse/Echo. Check. Then two intimidating parts where Echo merged with Boomer. Check and Done. "I'm home free, now it's smooth sailing and I can relax for the remainder!" This mental checklist became my way of breaking down what felt overwhelming into manageable pieces -- four hurdles met one at a time.
Each ski season, I would face these runs again. Sometimes I'd tackle them hesitantly, other times with a bit more confidence. There were good days and frustrating ones, but I kept coming back, gradually building a relationship with these challenges until, surprisingly, this entire route became one of my favorites.
The Middle Path of Growth
What strikes me about this journey is how it exemplifies what I often call the "Vibrant Middle" approach to growth. Rather than avoiding challenges completely or forcing myself to conquer them through sheer willpower, I found a middle path – engaging with difficulty in a way that stretched me without breaking me.
This approach honors the natural rhythm of growth. Like trees that add rings gradually each year, our capabilities expand through consistent, sustainable practice. We don't become different people overnight; we simply become more developed versions of ourselves through patient engagement with life's challenges.
What made this growth possible was learning to be kind to myself throughout the process. On days when fear got the better of me or when I felt I'd taken a step backward, I practiced self-compassion rather than harsh judgment. And as I've grown more comfortable with these runs, I've developed a deeper empathy for beginners I see facing the same slopes with trepidation. I recognize in their hesitation my own earlier struggles, reminding me that we're all at different points on similar journeys.
The mountain itself reinforced these lessons through constantly changing conditions. A run that felt manageable in fresh powder could become intimidating in icy hardpack. What seemed easy on a quiet morning might feel overwhelming when crowded with expert skiers zipping past at the end of the day. These variations taught me that mastery isn't static – it's about adapting to changing circumstances while maintaining our center.
But here's the thing about growth – it doesn't follow a neat, linear path with a clear endpoint. Just when we think we've mastered something, life has a way of offering new lessons.
Pride Before the Fall
On this most recent trip, with Boomer feeling like an old friend, I found myself getting a bit cocky. "I've got this run dialed in," I thought, picking up speed and taking more aggressive lines down familiar terrain. I was pushing my edges, testing my limits, feeling the exhilaration of newfound confidence.
And then – as often happens when confidence tips into overconfidence – I took a fall. Not a catastrophic one, but significant enough that days later, my body is still reminding me of the impact.
Here's the irony: After all these years, I discovered that what I thought was Boomer – the part often described as the "easier way" down – wasn't even the section I'd been skiing primarily. And yet, it was precisely this supposedly "easier" side that took me down! This realization was humbling and oddly perfect, reminding me that our perceptions and reality don't always align, and that growth often includes reconsidering what we think we know.
As I sat in the snow, catching my breath and taking stock of what had happened, I couldn't help but smile at the poetry of it all. Here was Boomer, still teaching me, still offering lessons. The lesson had simply evolved from "you can do more than you think" to "respect the process, even as you advance."
The Ongoing Dialogue with Challenge
What I've come to appreciate is that our relationship with challenges is more of a conversation than a conquest. Even as we grow more comfortable with what once intimidated us, there remains wisdom in approaching each engagement with awareness and respect. The slope's angle hasn't changed – it's exactly the same pitch it always was – but my perspective has transformed completely. What once felt like a terrifying black diamond now registers as a comfortable blue run in my experience.
This ongoing dialogue reminds me that nothing is truly stagnant. We change and grow, yes, but so do the conditions around us. A familiar challenge might present itself differently based on circumstances beyond our control – like changing snow conditions on the mountain. This doesn't mean our progress wasn't real; it simply means that mastery includes adapting to ever-changing variables rather than reaching some fixed endpoint.
This dynamic is something I see in so many areas of life. Whether it's a creative pursuit, a relationship, a professional skill, or a personal practice, true mastery isn't about reaching some static place where growth stops. Instead, it's about developing a nuanced, evolving relationship with the challenge – one that continues to teach us new things about ourselves and the world.
Finding Your Own "Boomer"
I share this story not because everyone needs to take up skiing, but because I believe we all have our own versions of "Boomer" in our lives – challenges that initially seem beyond our capabilities but that, through patient engagement, can become sources of growth and even joy.
After that first intimidating experience with Boomer, we bought a small piece of metal art – a cute little skier made of rebar and soldered metal as a memento of the trip. We named him "Boomer" and over the years have added to his "costume" with old goggles and a helmet we no longer use. Last year, we even added a sprig of evergreen from my first black diamond mogul run – another milestone in this ongoing journey. He sits in our home as a playful reminder of how challenges can transform from sources of fear to symbols of growth.
Maybe your own "Boomer" is a creative project that intimidates you, a conversation you've been avoiding, a skill that seems just out of reach, or a personal habit you're working to change. Whatever it might be, there's wisdom in approaching it not as something to be conquered in one heroic effort, but as a relationship to be developed over time.
Here are some reflections that might help you navigate your own challenging runs:
Honor where you are: My first attempt at Boomer was awkward and fear-filled, but it was exactly where I needed to begin. There's no shame in starting exactly where you are.
Celebrate small shifts: Progress often happens in barely perceptible increments. The second time down Boomer wasn't dramatically different from the first, but each run built upon the last.
Find your sustainable edge: Growth happens at the boundary of comfort and challenge – what I call the "Vibrant Middle." Too comfortable, and we stagnate; too challenged, and we burn out.
Practice self-compassion: Be as kind to yourself in learning as you would be to a friend. Harsh self-judgment only adds unnecessary weight to an already challenging process.
Extend empathy to others: As you progress, remember to offer understanding to those still facing what you've moved beyond. Your encouragement might be exactly what someone else needs on their journey.
Adapt to changing conditions: Sometimes external factors make familiar challenges feel new again. This isn't regression; it's an opportunity to develop new dimensions of mastery.
Expect evolving lessons: As you progress, the nature of what you're learning changes. The challenge itself might offer different insights at different stages of your journey.
Embrace setbacks with curiosity: Falls and failures are part of any meaningful growth process. When they happen, they often contain precisely the lessons we need.
As I reflect on my journey with Boomer, what strikes me most is how my relationship with challenge has changed. What once felt like an external obstacle to overcome has become an ongoing conversation, a dance of growth and learning that doesn't need to end. There will always be new lines to explore, new conditions to navigate, new edges to engage with curiosity rather than fear.
Comments