Haste makes waste.

My mom has a saying for everything, and one of her favorites is: “Haste makes waste.” Growing up, we’d hear it whenever someone rushed through their homework, tried to cook without reading the recipe, or basically did anything too fast without thinking it through. At the time, I didn’t think much of it—just another mom phrase. But on a ski trip to Mammoth one year, that saying hit a little too close to home.

It was our first time seeing snow, let alone skiing, so my sister and I were beyond excited. My mom—true to form—signed us up for ski lessons to make sure we had the basics down before we hit the slopes. By the end of the week, we were still beginners, but we could at least stay upright most of the time. On the last day, my mom suggested we stick to the bunny slope. My dad, though, had other plans. Confident and ready to show off a little, he waved us forward with a “Follow me!” And we did. At first, it was manageable. But before long, his slow pace turned into a zigzagging path down a real slope—and I realized too late that I hadn’t totally learned how to stop. I ended the run by skiing straight into a tree.

That was the end of the trip. Literally—we had to leave early. But looking back, my mom’s words “haste makes waste” couldn’t have applied more perfectly. We were so eager to keep up and do something exciting that we completely forgot we weren’t ready. My sister and I still laugh about it, and my dad still insists it “wasn’t that bad.” But now, whenever I’m tempted to rush into something, I think of that snowy tree—and how right my mom has always been.