Sticking My Butt Out: A Powder Day Lesson on Living Your Core Values

Sometimes you have to stick your butt out.

There’s a saying in the ski world: “No friends on a powder day.” When the snow is fresh and deep, skiers and boarders get laser-focused on one thing—chasing that blissful, weightless feeling of floating over untouched snow.

That was the vibe one morning as I drove up the canyon with my son, Donovan. Snow was coming down hard, and we were eager to get on the mountain. But a few miles from the ski area, traffic ground to a halt. We inched forward, slowly, then stopped entirely.

The opposite lane, though? Totally wide open. That’s when it started. Car after car pulled into the wrong lane, speeding past the waiting line, cutting ahead before forcing their way back in near the entrance.

Tempting, for sure. I had a Subaru with snow tires. My kid was with me. We could have done it. I considered following them.

But it felt wrong.

Watching those drivers zoom by while the rest of us waited stirred something in me. It didn’t just seem unsafe—it seemed unfair. And that’s what got under my skin.

So I did something about it. I stuck my butt out.

I edged my car halfway into the oncoming lane, just behind the car in front of us, blocking others from jumping the line. It wasn’t dramatic, but it sent a message. Some people behind me tried to get around. Most didn’t. They just waited. And yes, there were plenty of grimaces.

At first, I felt nervous. Was I about to get honked at, yelled at, or worse—in front of my son? I didn’t know. But once I made the move, I felt strangely calm. Not smug. Just steady. Like I was doing what needed to be done.

We moved slowly up the hill for about thirty minutes. Then, at one of the stops, the driver of the car ahead of me got out and walked over.

I rolled down my window, not sure what was coming.

He smiled, reached into his jacket, and handed me a Coors Banquet.

“Thanks, dude,” he said. “Want a beer?”

It was 10:30 in the morning—too early for me—but I took it anyway. The appreciation meant something. That beer is still in my fridge.

Later, I kept thinking about why I did what I did. I didn’t set out to prove a point. I wasn’t trying to teach my kid a lesson. I just acted.

And that’s when it clicked: I was living one of my core values. Fairness.

What Is a Core Value?

A core value is something you cherish. You talk about it. You act on it, even when it’s uncomfortable or inconvenient. It’s not just a belief—it’s a part of how you move through the world.

That day, fairness wasn’t a talking point. It was something I did. It guided me in the moment, and I’m glad it did.

So yeah, sometimes you have to stick your butt out. Especially when it matters.