Full Cirque

I loved my annual ski trips as a kid and knew that eventually, when I was older and had more agency over my life, I wanted to be in a place where I could ski often. So in the latter half of 2021, when I’d just graduated college, I decided to move to Winter Park, Colorado, to work at a ski resort. I had this vision that I was going to live it up, meet my people, and finally transform into some badass ski bum.

Turns out those family Christmas ski trips only showed the highlights of what ski town life is really like. Life in Winter Park felt a lot more bleak, aimless, and, at times, like I was on the fringes of society—which, I learned, wasn’t for me. The social scene revolved heavily around drinking and smoking, which made it hard to meet people I genuinely connected with. Being a small Asian girl in a predominantly White setting had its own set of challenges too. Ultimately, after a couple of months, I didn’t see any kind of longevity in staying.

Though the lifestyle wasn’t for me, skiing certainly still was. My skills and confidence improved tremendously, and my love for the sport deepened—especially for tree skiing. On days when the mountain was empty and snow was dumping, or when I had to believe in myself out of sheer necessity to make it down steep moguls, I felt the most alive. Skiing brought me peace, joy, and excitement all at once. I’ve never experienced anything else in my life that has made me feel that way.

For a while, the skiing was worth dealing with all the other subpar aspects of ski town life. When I finally decided it was time to move on, I’ll never forget finishing my last run and bawling my eyes out as I walked to the parking lot. Yes, I cried over a mountain—but it wasn’t just a mountain to me. That mountain became my friend who challenged and pushed me in all the right ways and gave me company when I needed it. Getting the chance to know what that was like and walking away from that was hard.

Leaving Winter Park was bittersweet. My time there had run its course, but I knew that at some point in the future, I had to come back to ski again. Something felt unfinished.

Fast forward to January 2025, and I’m in a completely new chapter of my life. I’ve got new friends, a new job, and a new routine. That dream I had as a kid to eat, live, and sleep skiing had dissipated, but I still skied a couple of times in Tahoe since leaving Winter Park.

Some friends and I were tossing around the idea of doing a ski trip to Tahoe, and I jokingly suggested we should go to Winter Park instead. To my surprise, my joke was taken seriously, and after a couple of phone calls, the opportunity to go to Winter Park landed right in my lap.

Basically, thanks to a friend’s friend’s generous family, we were able to get free housing. I could get heavily discounted lift tickets from friends who work at the ski resort, and I might even see my sister, who was going to be on her own ski trip at Winter Park during the same week. The stars couldn’t have been more aligned.

Everything got planned so quickly, and I couldn’t believe this trip to Winter Park was actually happening. After three years, I was finally going back.

I had a lot of mixed emotions about going back, but they were mostly optimistic. When we drove into town, everything looked like it was from a foggy dream—familiar yet distant. However, I remembered very clearly how good the skiing was, and I was excited to get back on the mountain.

My first day on the mountain felt like a reunion, like I was seeing an old friend who I wasn’t as close to anymore but still respected and shared nostalgia with. Over the course of the week, I went down runs I used to often do by myself—with friends this time. We weaved in and out from each other and cheered each other on. People would throw around names of runs and lifts as if they knew them like the back of their hand (which a few did) to figure out what we should do next, and I couldn’t help but just be happy. Not to mention, meeting up with my sister, who almost didn’t make it on her trip because she was sick, was surreal.

When we weren’t skiing, we were making food, soaking in the hot tub, playing games, or watching a movie. The beautiful house we were staying in definitely elevated the experience too.

As if it couldn’t get better, by day three I went from feeling rusty to tackling my second-ever run at The Cirque—known for its double-black diamond terrain. My heart was in my stomach during the sled ride to the run and up until I finally turned my skis to drop in. Once again, just like old times, the mountain challenged and pushed me in the right ways. I was so proud of myself for not bailing, because man, that was an exhilarating run.

Looking back, I romanticized the idea of living in a ski town, and when I realized I wasn’t cut out for its realities, I felt let down. This cloud of disappointment in myself just loomed over my time in Winter Park. After I left, I learned to accept that there are certain things I’m not willing to sacrifice —despite how much I love skiing. 

When I got to go back to Winter Park, I found myself being less critical about it not working out three years ago. I moved to a totally new state to try out a lifestyle I didn’t know much about, and it’s okay that it didn’t work out—because there was still a lot of good that came out of it. I had some of the best skiing of my life in Winter Park and became a more resilient person. And without that connection, I wouldn’t have made the joke that brought me back for such a fun-filled week with friends and family.

Leaving Winter Park this time around, the clouds of disappointment moved aside for sunbeams of grace and gratitude. I think that’s part of what life is about. Everything has its cycle or reason. There will always be tough or disappointing times, but there will be good times too. The important—and hard—thing to remember, no matter what phase you’re going through, is that it won’t last forever, and to make the most of it.

I’m grateful I got to return to Winter Park. I found closure and was able to end this chapter on a brighter note than before. As for skiing, I can’t deny how alive it makes me feel. Deep down, I still dream that one day I can ski as much as I did when I lived in Winter Park. I’ll need to find a way that works for me but I just hope it’s in the cards.