It was the crack o’ noon on Saturday and I was heading out to Park City Mountain to ski with some friends. We got on line at First Time lift and that’s when I spotted this lil’ grom in front of us. She looked to be 2 years old, 3 tops, and she was so tiny I wasn’t even sure she wasn’t some kind of ski doll. Like if you stacked two 64-ounce Stanley cups on top of each other, she might not be tall enough to take a sip.
Standing on a mini snowboard in a lavender jacket and geometric-print baggy ski pants, she wore leather mitts that appeared to have been borrowed from Shrek and a pair of Dragon goggles that basically enveloped her entire little face.
She was with her father, also on a snowboard. He was like her personal magic carpet, inching her forward in line as she stood stoicly awaiting her turn to board the lift. The kid seemed a little oblivious to the whole thing. Clearly, she was placing total trust in her dad to show her the way.
The dad turned and pointed his iPhone toward me and asked if I would mind shooting a video of them riding the lift.
“It’s her first time!” he said, beaming.
Her first time. On First Time. How perfectly appropriate, I thought, filming as the father scooped her onto the chair, tucking his arm around her and obscuring all but a tiny sliver of her lavender jacket.
We met them at the top of the lift and I handed the dad his iPhone back, digital memory of the moment secured.
“Say thank you, Shia,” he said as she high fived us. We paused to take a pic with the micro-betty, who was surely destined for Olympic gold or, at the very least, a hot cocoa with marshmallows.
And just like that, they were gone, the dad guiding Shia as she glided down the slope unquestioningly.
There is a first time for everything. For all of us. Not just when we’re little kids like Shia. But every day, every moment, really, is an opportunity for a first time for something if you put your mind to it.
Just think about it. When was your last first time? What did you do? How did you do it? What if we measured our life in first times instead of years? How many would we find? How many would we create? And what would happen if we approached that first time with the trust and curiosity and, yeah, maybe even with a little of the cluelessness of a child?
Have you ever watched a 4 year old paint a picture? They don’t ask too many questions. They don’t worry about perfection or the terror of a blank page. They just dip a brush in paint and get to work. And I’ll be damned if they don’t end up making something downright delightful.
The point is, we’re all born Picassos. Time and experience dull that sense for many of us. Creating your own first times might be a way to reclaim it.
I was thinking about this the other day — my first time on real powder this season. I’d been skiing with three guy friends who were charging through the pow like the running of the bulls.
They took an unexpected turn off the trail, up and over a large, frozen snowdrift heading toward one of the bowls. I didn’t have enough momentum and when I got to the bowl, they were gone. I traversed the slope, not sure what direction to go. All I could see was what looked like a gully below.
I knew I didn’t want to get stuck in a runout that went nowhere. So I just stopped. And there I was, alone in a section of soaring pines. It was as quiet as a church. The snow-covered trees enveloped me like a prayer.
I looked ahead, and right in front of me, was perfect untracked snow. A blank page with only the eyes of a stand of aspens to silently judge me.
James Baldwin said, “No one can possibly know what is about to happen: It is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.”
And for the first time this year, that day, that exact moment, I swooped through the trees, not knowing where they would take me.