Leaning Into the Slope
On curiosity, confidence, and learning to let go — on and off the slope.
Over the break, I took my kids skiing in Shanghai. Yes, skiing, indoors, in a dome on the edge of one of the busiest cities in the world. Only in China could you leave a crowded subway and twenty minutes later find yourself standing on a manufactured slope. But as a family activity, it was brilliant. It was exercise, fun, and a chance to try new tricks together.
“Only in China could you leave a crowded subway and twenty minutes later find yourself standing on a manufactured slope.”
As a parent, I loved watching their confidence grow with each slope. I hated watching them fall, of course, but I was proud to see them brush themselves off, click their skis back on, and go again. Indoor skiing is strange in another way too: without mountains or scenery to distract you, you end up focusing on the details, the angle of your knees, the pressure of your edges, the precise point where balance meets speed.
My mum always said skiing was a selfish sport. “You’re out there on your own,” she’d tell me. But it wasn’t about being alone; it was about independence. On the slope, you make your own decisions, find your balance, and learn to recover when things don’t go as planned.
The first thing you learn is the snowplough, that awkward “V” shape where your knees bend and your skis point inward. It looks clumsy, but it’s how you learn control. Watching my kids inch their way down the slope, skis shaking and faces determined, reminded me how control always comes before confidence. You have to find your footing before you can really move.
“Control always comes before confidence.”
Eventually, you start to experiment. Add a bit more speed, lean a little deeper into the turn, and test what happens if you trust the edge. That’s where it gets interesting. You learn that progress doesn’t come from staying rigid; it comes from release. The moment you stop fighting gravity and start working with it, skiing becomes something else entirely. Smooth. Fluid. Addictive.
I took a few of those “let’s see what happens” runs myself, slightly faster, sharper turns, just enough to make my stomach drop. My children, of course, found this hilarious. They raced past me, shouting encouragement and unsolicited advice (“Mum! Bend your knees more!”). They were taking on the steeper section while I was still practising my weight transfer through each turn.
“Something is humbling about that, watching your children outpace you, cheering them on while quietly realising you’re learning just as much as they are.”
I thought of Mikaela Shiffrin, a two-time Olympic champion and the most successful alpine skier in history, with 88 World Cup wins before the age of 29. Beyond her record-breaking career, she’s known for her honesty, discipline, and the mindset she calls “the confidence to try,” to keep learning, adapting, and finding calm in challenge. At a recent interview, she spoke candidly about what keeps her grounded on the world’s steepest slopes (watch here). She spoke about how her mother, Eileen, who’s also her coach, helps her stay aware of sensations and reactions on the slope. Together, they analyse the feeling of a turn rather than just the result, and that process of noticing details builds both confidence and control. She also spoke about how failure teaches you more than success. Every crash gives you data for the next run. Confidence doesn’t come from hoping you won’t make mistakes, but from trusting your preparation enough to keep going when you do. When the pressure builds, she narrows her focus to the next gate, the next breath, the next decision.
That stayed with me. Whether on snow or in schools, the same truth holds: growth comes from curiosity, confidence from preparation, and calm from trusting the work you’ve already done.
“Growth comes from curiosity, confidence from preparation, and calm from trusting the work you’ve already done”.
It’s a lesson that applies equally to leadership. I often see young leaders rush from idea to implementation, eager to prove themselves through action. But without an implementation plan or space for reflection, those efforts can quickly become scattered, a flurry of energy without direction. Momentum is valuable, but without structure, it burns out. Just like in skiing, confidence doesn’t come from speed alone; it comes from rhythm, design, and trust in the line you’ve mapped ahead.
And somewhere between the snowploughs, falls, and “Mum, you’re too slow,” I started thinking about my own work, not in a grand, metaphorical way, but in the quiet parallels that creep in when you’ve been doing something long enough to see the patterns. I’ve been in education for nearly two decades, long enough to see how learning and leadership both rely on the same habits: curiosity, deliberate practice, and the willingness to look slightly foolish before you get better.
When I first stepped into leadership, I treated it a bit like my early skiing lessons, too much focus on control, not enough on flow. I wanted everything stable, predictable, precise. But leading, like skiing, asks for trust. You have to lean into the slope. You can’t correct every wobble or stop at every bump. The art is knowing when to steer and when to let momentum help you.
Eileen Gu, the Chinese-American freestyle skier, became a global phenomenon after winning two gold medals and a silver at the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics (watch here). She is also a Stanford graduate in Product Design. She blends creativity, intellect, and athletic precision in everything she does. Off the slopes, she’s a Victoria’s Secret model and ambassador for brands like Louis Vuitton, Tiffany & Co., and IWC. Born in San Francisco and representing China, she’s become a bridge between cultures — using her platform to champion women in sport, advocate for mental health, and inspire young people to pursue their passions with confidence and purpose.
She speaks beautifully about this balance in her conversation with IWC’s Franziska Gsell (watch here). She describes free skiing as “gymnastics on skis”, expressive and creative, where style and variety matter as much as technical difficulty. For her, the beauty of skiing lies in creativity, in finding your own line. Growing up between two cultures, Chinese and American, she’s learned how to live with multiple perspectives at once and how diversity deepens empathy. That bicultural awareness, she says, has taught her to embrace differences.
“The beauty of skiing lies in creativity — in finding your own line.”
She also talks openly about being the only girl on her ski team after coming from an all-girls school, how that experience made her aware of her gender but also of her strength. She turned that awareness into advocacy, using her voice to champion representation and to remind young women that confidence doesn’t mean conformity. And then there’s her view of social media as a “double-edged sword.” It can amplify pressure, but it can also amplify purpose. She chooses to use it to inspire, connect, and spark change.
What connects Mikaela Shiffrin and Eileen Gu isn’t just their talent but the mindset behind it: a blend of curiosity, discipline, and trust in the process. Mikaela’s mother, Eileen, shaped her growth through questions rather than answers, guiding her to think, notice, and refine for herself. That kind of coaching, built on inquiry, mirrors what we aim for in education. It’s what helps learners develop awareness, not dependence.
And Eileen Gu’s reflections echo the same truth from a different slope. Her success comes from creativity, courage, and using her platform with purpose to empower others and expand what’s possible. Both remind me that mastery, whether in skiing or in schools, comes from the same place: curiosity as the driver of learning, confidence as the product of preparation, and progress as the willingness to keep finding new lines forward.
“You fall, you get up, you learn. You find your edge.”
Skiing, whether on a mountain or in a Shanghai snow dome, keeps reminding us what it means to lean in. Learning and leading aren’t linear. It’s messy, joyful, humbling work. You fall, you get up, you learn. You find your edge.
Keep leaning into the slope.