Expect the Unexpected
Sitting alone one night while my wife and kids were sleeping, I was scrolling in the way I try not to scroll when the others are awake. You know—the kind of scrolling where you tell yourself you’re just going to check one thing and suddenly you’re 47 posts deep into the internet.
Nothing particularly interesting was passing by until I saw the name Canyon Wildwood show up on one of the many queer sites I follow. I was intrigued. Canyon was promoting a trip with The Venture Out Project (TVOP)(Opens in a new window): an opportunity to ski with others in the Q+ community.
Now, before I go any further, I should tell you that as a 43-year-old woman, I had been skiing exactly once in my life.
It was in seventh grade.
It was awful.
And I had spent the next 30-ish years feeling very confident that I had experienced enough skiing for one lifetime.
I am also the wife of someone who grew up skiing but hasn’t been on the slopes in decades; the mother of a great 10-year-old skier who never gets to ski; an 11-year-old who has a firm “nope, not for me” policy when it comes to skiing; and a 5-year-old novice who is willing to try pretty much anything new.
So, naturally, when I saw the post about a family ski adventure, I thought: Absolutely not.
Then I clicked the link.
At the time, my wife was lying just a few feet away, her arm in a sling after slipping on ice during an ICE protest.
I wish I could say that irony was lost on us.
It was not.
There was absolutely nothing in the universe telling me that, as a self-proclaimed ski-hater who didn’t even particularly enjoy the cold, I should take my family on a ski adventure.
And yet, I applied.
Because families like ours—kids like ours, life intersections like ours—can make it really hard to find opportunities to explore outdoor adventures. Especially the expensive ones. Skiing is not exactly a “let’s just give it a try and see what happens” activity when you have to rent equipment, buy lift tickets, find lessons, feed everyone, and somehow keep five people warm.
When I told my wife I had applied, I’m pretty sure the response was some variation of, “You did what?”
And then, somehow, we found ourselves heading to the ski hill.
We arrived and made our way to the room where our group was gathering. We were greeted warmly, given snacks and water bottles, and then handed these amazing Osprey hydration backpacks.
We each got one.
We were all a little stunned.
Apparently, this was not going to be the sort of ski trip where you show up, struggle into a pair of rental boots, and immediately question every life decision that brought you there.
We started the day as a room full of strangers.
We ended it as friends.
And then there was the skiing.
It was incredibly foggy, wet and slick. What were we doing here? Somehow, the group calmed us all.
My skier skied.
My five-year-old, after a quick lesson, was absolutely ripping down the hill.
My hesitant 11-year-old and I were so anxious it seemed to be spilling from our Osprey packs. In reality, we had been able to pack snacks and a full water bladder to keep us on the hill each day.
My daughter and I were proud of ourselves for finishing our lesson and then bravely attempting the small hill. Even after some tears, screams, loud “I can’t”s. I had to trust the staff to ease her calm and they helped her ski the whole hill safely.
Multiple times.
Were we graceful? No.
Were we fast? Also no.
Did we look like people who had been skiing their entire lives? Absolutely not.
But we did it.
And my wife watched all of us from the sidelines, arm still in a sling, presumably wondering how our family had somehow gone from “we don’t really ski” to “apparently this is what we’re doing now.”
The ski instructors were incredible. They taught our entire group at the same time, somehow managing people at completely different skill levels, including beginners and kids.
And the other adults embraced the opportunity to help the kids and newer skiers learn and practice.
There was cheering when someone successfully made it down a hill.
There was encouragement after a tumble.
There was the occasional look of pure terror followed by 10 seconds of bravery.
And then there was the cheering again.
That was the part that stayed with me.
Yes, we were incredibly grateful for the lift tickets, boots, skis, snacks, and gifts—all provided at no cost to us.
But those things, as generous as they were, were outweighed by the community.
By the kindness.
By the ski instructors who gave their time and talents.
By the adults who helped kids they had met only hours before.
By the feeling of being safe, welcomed, and supported in a network like TVOP.
The Venture Out Project’s vision is:
“The Venture Out Project envisions a world where queer, trans, and LGBTQ+ youth and adults create community, develop leadership skills, and gain confidence through the shared experience of outdoor adventure and physical activity.”
After this trip, I think I understand that vision a little differently.
TVOP and Osprey weren’t just giving us a day of skiing. They were helping create the world they envision—a world where our community gets to experience adventure together, where queer families and queer kids see themselves belonging in outdoor spaces, and where trying something new doesn’t have to mean doing it alone.
A year ago, I would have told you I was a person who had skied once in seventh grade and had no plans to repeat the experience.
Now?
My five-year-old is ripping down hills. My hesitant 11-year-old is conquering small slopes. My 10-year-old is happily back on skis. My wife is already plotting our next family ski day.
And I guess I’m a skier now.
I hate how that happened.
But I love that it did.
We are forever grateful to The Venture Out Project, Osprey, Canyon Wildwood, the instructors, Afton Alps, Vail Resorts, and everyone who helped make this experience possible.
And yes—we already have plans to ski as a family this winter.
