Hey friend,

So, I did something kinda creepy earlier this week… I went to a children’s playground on adult night. Yeah, that’s right. There’s a 10-year-old girl inside me. Little 10-year old Ceylan wants to play, jump, and walks around skipping. So I took her with me—to Woodward. Asked my friends if they wanted to join, but they all kind of said yes with half a heart. So, I rolled solo.

Got there at 6:30 pm—half hour before “adult night” started. When I told the front desk person that It’s my first time and I’d like an orientation, he asked me to sign the waiver and gave a wrist band with a weird look. As I walked in, I realized I was even older than the moms around. Suddenly, I felt a little creepy. I grabbed a high chair, sat facing the trampolines. Seven trampolines filled with tiny humans—some barely taller than my waist—flipping, jumping, rolling.

And me? I had so many fears. My fears crept out and silenced that little Ceylan in me.

I’m afraid of being rejected. Not welcomed. Singled out. Failing. Not belonging. Falling and getting judged. Opening my mouth and people realizing I’m not from around here. The front desk not giving me a ticket for being too old, too thin, too weak, or not a member. Kids in line laughing and pointing going, “Go home, bake cookies!”

I’m just… afraid. Afraid someone will come up and ask me what I’m even doing there.

I watched frozen for an hour. Those kids took turns—flipping double, walking on walls like little spiders. And me? Didn’t belong. Why was I there anyway? Most adults were teens or in their early 20s—mostly boys or tomboys in black loose clothes. I couldn’t even tell how many girls were around. I felt so out of place. I was at a loss. Go back? Leave? Watch ‘til closing? No way. I couldn’t abandon little Ceylan inside me.

I sat in uncertainty, froze in fear, but I stayed. Until… I decided to go for a simple walk in the playground.

I stashed my jackets, fanny pack, and shoes in a cubby and walked in.

I saw the pump track away from audience. I rented ski boots and a helmet—felt weird paying another $30—but I did it. Tried the pump track 20 times, taking turns with skaters and rollerbladers. Had to take off my skis often, but hey, strong arms help.

It was emotional and exhausting, but I got “good job”s and fist bumps from twin 19-year-olds.

Here’s the truth: I’m terrified and fearless at the same time. Afraid of not belonging. Afraid of being rejected. Of making a fool of myself. Falling in front of people and getting judged. Wanting to run, hide, or quit—but… I show up anyway.

That little girl in me? She’s courage. She silences fears with her “lalala” song and takes me on wild adventures. I follow her.

Here’s the ski scoop!

Skiing is way more complicated than trampolines or the pump track. No one’s always there to hold your hand, show you how to put on skis, avoid the gaper gap, or pick your safe trails.

That’s where I come in. I don’t leave skiers behind like that front desk person at Woodward. I hold your hand. I guide you.

So here’s my invitation:

First and foremost—show up and take one TINY step. Show up for your desires. For your wants. For that little girl or boy inside you. Show up for life. Show up for you.

The path lights up as you show up. You’re scared? Show up anyway—that’s how you push beyond your edges.

Whether you’re terrified or ready to be fearless, just show up.

And if you want extra support, hire a ski instructor—ask me! I’m here to help you find your courage on the slopes.