Here’s What It Taught Me About Skiing.

I just came back from a kiteboarding trip in Turks and Caicos. It was transformational.

I’ve been taking kiteboarding lessons for the last four summers. Akyaka. Antigua. Tulum. Marsala. All with one single goal — to leave the beach independently. And come back to the beach independently.

It was a long beginner curve for me. Way too long.

I’m proud that I’m patient with everyone else. I’m not really patient with myself.

The Orange Light

For four years I didn’t get a green light from my instructors. They kept giving me an orange light.

Being in a kiteboarding lesson means wearing a life vest. A helmet. A walkie-talkie dangling from the helmet with the instructor’s voice telling me what to do and what not to do at all times.

When it’s up to me, I wear nothing but the required clothing. A bikini. A waist harness. That’s it.

This trip, I was determined to go out again by myself.

The Day I Decided to Go

After a two-hour refresher lesson, on my second day, I committed to head out alone.

At our kiteboarding hotel, my fellow kiteboarder friend pulled in multiple guests and the hotel owners to help me. What started as one person became five. The concern spread fast.

They were gently trying to convince me not to go that particular day. The wind was gustier than usual. It was high tide — water up to my neck instead of my hips. The waves were big and inconsistent. The wind was inconsistent.

One experienced guest boarder suggested he’d take the kite thirty yards into the water. I’d swim to him. He’d hand me the kite. Safer that way — so if I lost control, I wouldn’t fly into the roof of the hotel.

Then the hotel owner lady asked me — with a little judgment in her voice — if I was really going to wear those sunglasses.

I love those sunglasses. Pit Vipers. Pink-tinted. Heart-shaped. With a strap. They fit. They make me happy.

I started second-guessing my commitment.

But I could not quit.

I just could not say to myself, Okay, I’ll try tomorrow morning when the wind is more mellow. I could not.

The water was white. Waves were breaking. The kite was flapping at the top of my 12 o’clock wind window.

In the Water

The experienced guy launched the kite and walked into deep water with my board. I swam out to meet him.

He said he’d hold me as I got the kite from his spreader bar hook to mine. He held me with his life. He moved behind me and gripped the back of my harness so tightly that I could not trust my hips to bring my chicken loop over the water. He was holding me so tight that I could not float my legs to move the harness hook over the water.

His worry was that I’d lose control of the kite. Fly. Slap onto the beach. Or tangle myself and him in the lines — lines strong enough to rip off a leg.

I could not get the hook onto mine. The water kept splashing on my face. On a low-tide day, the water would have been at my belly. Easy. Today it was a fight.

And there it came again. He said, Would you like to try another day?

Me. Noooo. Please don’t hold me so tight. Give me wiggle room.

He reluctantly released my harness.

I laid back on the water. I got the spreader bar hook over the surface. I clipped the chicken loop in. The donkey dick in.

He started holding me looser with each step. Still worried eyes.

I looked back at the beach. Four sets of eyes watching every struggle. All of them holding their breath.

He passed me the board. And he freed me.

One eight-move of the kite. I got up on the board. Kite at 11. I started riding.

I felt five people exhale at once. Okayyy. She got it.

The Truth

The reality is — I got it from the very start.

I absorbed everyone’s worry and fear into my body. That’s why it was so hard out there. Not the wind. Not the waves. Not the tide. Their fear.

I’m proud I didn’t quit based on someone else’s fear.

I knew it in me that I could. Even when I hesitated. Even when I doubted myself. Even when the safer voice in the room said try tomorrow.

If I had chosen to be guided by fear — theirs or mine — I would have missed it. I would have missed riding the entire bay from one end to the other. I would have missed the freedom of owning that water with my own two hands.

I would have missed me.

What This Taught Me About Skiing

Here’s why this matters for skiing. And for being a ski instructor.

I know the humbling beginner mindset. Four years of orange lights will do that to you. I know what it feels like to want a sport so badly and have your body not quite catch up to your hunger. I know how heavy it feels to want to quit.

I know when to encourage. When my student is one breath away from the breakthrough. When she just needs to hear you’ve got this one more time before her legs remember.

I know when to set you free. A good instructor doesn’t hold you tighter when you’re scared. A good instructor gives you wiggle room. The hook will only go on when your hips float and your legs trust the water.

I know that fear is contagious. Other people’s worry can land in your body and slow you down. My job is to be the one person on the mountain whose energy makes you more capable, not less.

I know the sunglasses matter. The pink heart-shaped ones. The outfit that makes you feel like you. Confidence has a uniform. Wear yours.

I know that the breakthrough is already inside you. I just see it before you do. That’s the whole job.

As you know — life is skiing and skiing is life. Skiing is a low-risk activity that builds the confidence in you to take the next step in life. Skiing is supported by nature. It’s healing. It’s an analogy to bring the courage out of you for life.

My Invite to You

Come ski with me this winter.

I will hold your hand to the top of the mountain. I will give you the right amount of wiggle room. I will not project my fear onto you. I will see your breakthrough before you do — and I will set you free at the exact right moment.

You’ll come down that run owning the whole bay.

DM me to book. Or visit SkierTV.com.

Come to the fun side. Ski ya later.

— Ceylan