The Joy of Unmet Expectations

I went to The Summit at Snoqualmie yesterday. My daughter asked me to come along so I could help my look after my two-year-old grandson, Weston – while the older ones skied and snow-boarded with her. My duties would be walking the child ski-run alongside him, possibly pulling him along with a giant hula hoop, and taking rests as often as he needed. Well, it turns out Dad (my son-in-law), who is recovering from a back injury, decided to come along to make sure mom was comfortable driving their new larger SUV over the pass in snowy conditions, and to get out of the house for what promised to be a gorgeous day.

Here’s what I expected: hours of watching little Weston ski down the tiny incline several times, and pulling him with the hula-hoop setup until both of us were tired, interspersed with resting on cold uncomfortable benches along the outside of buildings – closed by the COVID pandemic – then eating snacks and lunch in the tail-gait of the car where my son-in-law would be working on his laptop with an unreliable wi-fi. In the late afternoon, I figured I might get to watch the older ones coming down the face of the bunny hill a couple of times before making the 45 minute drive back over the mountain.

As so many times before, my expectations were all wrong.

First of all, I completely forgot how freaking long it takes to get anywhere or do anything with one kid in tow-let alone four! The plan was to be on the road by 9:45, stop by Starbucks for hot drinks and brekky, and be at the slopes with time to spare for their 12-4pm lift passes. Instead, we left at 10:30, had two stops to make, then turned around because a phone was forgotten. On the road at 11. In the parking lot at 12. Thirty minutes of unloading and suiting up, then each person using the port-a-potty (requiring the removal of most of the snow gear they just put on), followed by a slooooow walk across an icy parking lot, a 50 ft trek up foothills covered in 10 inches of fresh powder and a winding uphill walkway to the ticket booth and lifts (with a struggling whiny toddler who was already over it). Carrying skis, boards, and bags filled with food and drinks for seven, everyone finally put polyethylene and fiberglass to snow at around 1:20pm.

Their were at least three dozen newish rubber coated picnic tables in the outdoor area, which were clean and comfortable, and where we gratefully set up. The older ones eagerly set out for the chair lifts. Then Weston got a few pulls from mom & dad, and skied the child hill, called “Magic Carpet” because of its conveyor belt lift resembling a carpet ride up the tiny slope. After two times up and down with dad’s help, Mom went to join the older kids, and I assumed I’d take over. But Weston had other plans. He was already cruising into his usual nap time, and was getting a little testy about continuing this cold and strenuous activity. Instead, he became fascinated by the family group of bronze bear sculptures in the sitting area, the fire pit, and the snacks in Grama’s bag. Weston got a second wind and had to be watched like a hawk by both my son-in-law and I, to avoid falling off the bear, getting too close to the fire, eating the treats I rationed – or wandering off into the crowded snow covered lift lanes. He hated wearing his buff and gloves and no matter how many times my son-in-law asked “Hey Weston, do you want to go ski some more?” He plainly stated, “No.”

Though I wish my toe warmers had worked a little better, I was amazingly comfortable for the almost four hours at our post. I had a great visit with my son-in-law, which I rarely get to have. I took a trek around the lifts at the base of the ski resort to look for my family members on the slopes, and though I never once got to see my daughter or older grand-kids come down the runs – I did get to watch people of all ages, races, shapes, sizes and skill levels come down a beautiful mountainside just for the joy and exhilaration of it. And after dad took Weston to the car for a nap around 3, I was there at the table for everyone to check in for a quick rest of their tired legs while they recounted a particularly difficult or fun run, a drink, a snack, to hold their layers of clothing when they got too hot, and give them back when they got cold again. I even became a bit of a hero when I gave up my waterproof gloves after my 10 year old granddaughter dropped one of hers from the chair lift, which allowed her to ski for an additional hour-and-a-half.

In the end, everyone in our group – skiers and non-skiers alike – had a blast and were properly exhausted as the 5 o’clock darkness set in against the snow beginning to fall under the streetlamps.What impressed me the most is that nobody let the hiccups and delays upset them to the point where they forgot why we were going in the first place – to have fun! Everyone showed remarkable patience, compassion, flexibility, and humor. I was so proud of my daughter and her family for this display of how to enjoy the journey. Sometimes a potentially amazing experience can be either derailed or enhanced by unexpected detours, and how we react to them – with frustration, anger and blame or acceptance, fluidity and kindness. Having a plan is great. Allowing things to unfold, and going with the flow is equally important.

Like skiing down the hills of Life itself, no run is ever exactly the same twice – we can anticipate without being attached to outcomes, and thereby experience the wonder and the joy in the unexpected.