There’s always a moment, standing at the top of a line, when the mountain feels bigger than memory. It’s the first turn of the season, that familiar twinge of doubt — what if I’ve forgotten how to ski? The snow looks firm, the slope steeper than you remembered, and gravity waits patiently for your decision.
Then you drop in.
The hesitation disappears, replaced by motion, by wind, by the rhythm of turns that return as naturally as breathing. Every skier knows that moment: the small leap of faith between stillness and flow.
In life, we drop in too. We take the same kinds of risks — stepping into new relationships, new seasons, new versions of ourselves. Sometimes the act is bold and obvious; other times it’s quiet, like simply getting out of bed on a hard morning. Each one a small surrender to momentum.
The truth is, the fear never fully goes away. But that’s part of what makes the drop-in so good. It means you’re alive to it — to the unknown, to gravity, to joy.
So here’s to another season of dropping in.