The Lesson I Learned Sitting on a Bench in the Cold
Last month, I took my boys on a ski trip to Lake Tahoe. It was the first time for my youngest, Maverick, who is five years old. You could see the excitement in his eyes—this was his big moment, his first boys’ trip with his older brothers. He had his new ski gear, his lift ticket, and a heart full of anticipation. For the first few days, he’d be in lessons, learning the ropes before joining the rest of us on the mountain.
His lessons started at 8 a.m., the same time the gondola opened. But five-year-olds don’t just slap on their skis and go. It took ski school an hour to get the little ones suited up and ready, meaning they didn’t actually head up until 9 a.m. That first morning, we dropped him off, gave him a hug, and went straight to the gondola.
The next morning at breakfast, Mav looked up at me and said, “Dad, can you wait until I go up the gondola before you guys go?”
I explained that we usually go up right after dropping him off and that he wouldn’t be heading up for another hour. He hesitated for a moment, then quietly said, “I didn’t want to tell you this because I love skiing, but I’m scared to ride the gondola.”
We talked about it, and as we walked down to ski school, he looked up at me one more time and said, “You promise you’ll wait for me?”
In my head, all I could think about was how much time that meant sitting on a bench. An hour of prime ski time, wasted. The lift ticket that cost $180 for the day, ticking away while I did nothing. But then I looked at him. That little glimmer in his eye—the mix of wanting to be brave, wanting to be a big kid, but also just needing a little reassurance.
So I said, “No problem, buddy. I’ll wait.”
The Shift in Perspective
I sat there on a bench, watching other skiers strap in, adjusting their goggles, heading up the mountain. And inside, I still had that nagging feeling—this is such a waste of time.
Then I noticed a man, easily in his 70s, walk up to the gondola. And suddenly, it hit me.
I was so focused on this one hour, but in the grand scheme of things, I still have 30+ years of skiing ahead of me. This one hour of waiting? It meant nothing to me in the long run. But to Mav, it meant the world.
When I shifted my perspective from ‘what I’m losing’ to ‘what someone else is gaining,’ everything changed.
Suddenly, I wasn’t “wasting” an hour—I was investing it…. And, I love a good investment.
I sat back, relaxed, and just enjoyed the moment. These days, it’s rare that we allow ourselves to just ‘be.’
And then, finally, I saw him.
Mav came waddling up in his oversized ski boots, his little helmet slightly crooked, carrying his skis with that same determination and excitement. He looked around, spotted me, and gave me the biggest thumbs-up.
That moment right there? Worth more than a thousand ski runs.
The Realization
I started thinking—how many other moments like this have I missed because I was too busy, too rushed, too focused on “optimizing” my time?
I was so caught up in making the most of my ski day that I almost missed the most meaningful part of it. As I sat there for a few more minutes, I realized that this isn’t just about skiing.
How often do we rush through life, prioritizing efficiency over experience?
How many moments do we overlook, dismiss, or rush past because we’re too focused on the next thing?
We convince ourselves that we’re being productive, that we’re making the most of our time. But sometimes, making the most of our time isn’t about doing more. It’s about slowing down and actually being there.
That one hour didn’t take anything away from me. If anything, it gave me something I didn’t even realize I needed—a reminder that presence is the most valuable investment we can make.
So as I rode up the gondola with my older boys, and then carving through the fresh snow with them, I felt something different. A sense of gratitude, not just for the run we were about to take, but for the moment I got to have with Mav.
And the funny thing?
That one “wasted” hour?
It might have been the most valuable hour of my entire trip.
-Mike Neubauer
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