Last week, Facebook did that thing it does—bringing back memories you weren’t quite ready for, but somehow needed.

It showed me photos from 11 years ago—my first VA adaptive ski trip to Aspen. I was still trying to ski standing up then, strapped into gear, determined to conquer the mountain with two feet on the snow and a whole lot of pride in my chest.

Looking at those photos stirred something deep. Because now, years later, I ski differently. The last two trips, I’ve been on a mono ski—sitting down, adapting, still moving, still thriving.

And yet… part of me still wrestled with that shift.

There’s something raw about seeing yourself from a decade ago, doing something you can’t—or no longer choose—to do today. There’s a silent grief there, sure. But there’s also growth.

Back then, I fell. A lot. And I needed help getting up, just like in life. But I kept getting up—and that hasn’t changed. What has changed is how I’ve learned to redefine success.

It’s no longer about standing tall on skis. It’s about showing up. It’s about letting joy adapt to the body I have now, not the one I had then.

People sometimes think moving from standing to sitting is a loss. But what I’ve found is that it’s actually a release. A new freedom. I’m no longer chained to proving something. I’ve done the work. I’ve felt the cold, face-first, and still came back with a smile.

I missed this year’s Aspen trip—life had other plans: the sale of my house, major transitions. But those photos? They reminded me that this journey I’m on… it’s not about staying the same. It’s about continuing forward.