When I first started snowboarding, my dad pretty much dragged me

“When I first started snowboarding, my dad pretty much dragged me into it. I wasn’t old enough to be like, ‘Oh, I wanna snowboard!’ you know?” — Chloe Kim

These are not idle words, but a reflection of destiny’s mysterious beginning—how the paths that shape our greatness often begin not by our own will, but through the hands of others. In the voice of Chloe Kim, we hear the echo of countless souls who were guided, even pushed, toward something they did not yet understand. The child, unaware of her calling, resists the hand that leads her, yet that very hand sets her upon the mountain where her spirit will one day soar. What begins as reluctance may later become revelation.

In ancient days, the wise knew this truth well: that a seed does not choose where it is planted, but the soil may yet awaken its hidden power. So it was with the young Chloe, drawn into snowboarding by her father’s will, not her own desire. The father’s urging, though misunderstood at first, was not tyranny but foresight. For love often acts before understanding. He saw a summit beyond her sight, a place where her courage would meet her gift. The mountain was waiting, though she did not yet know it.

So too have many been dragged by fate into the crucible that forged their greatness. Think of Alexander the Great, taught by his father to ride and fight long before he could grasp the weight of kingship. Or Mozart, guided relentlessly by his father’s hand to the harpsichord when he was barely old enough to reach the keys. In youth, they were not free to choose, yet in time they became free through the mastery their discipline had won. For the will of the elder, when born of love and wisdom, is the wind that fills the sails of the unready heart.

Chloe Kim’s words reveal a paradox: that sometimes freedom is born of guidance, not rebellion. The child who is led into the storm learns the strength of her own wings. When she first stood upon the board, she did not yet see the glory of flight; she only felt the cold, the fear, the pull of gravity. But over years of struggle and perseverance, that reluctant beginning became the flame of her identity. What began as her father’s dream became her own destiny, her own triumph upon the snow, where she carved her name upon the white silence of the mountains.

Yet there is more here than the tale of a daughter and her father. There lies a universal truth: that often we are called to paths we would never have chosen. The craftsman, the soldier, the teacher, the poet—all may begin their work in doubt, even in resistance. But when the hand of fate drags us forward, we must trust that the purpose is hidden, not absent. Every struggle that begins without desire may still end in fulfillment. The river does not choose its course, yet by surrendering to the flow, it reaches the sea.

Therefore, let those who are young, and those who guide the young, take heed. The elder’s role is not to dictate, but to ignite. The mentor’s task is to see the potential hidden beneath uncertainty and fear. And to those who are guided—whether by parents, teachers, or fate itself—remember this: though you may not yet understand the road you walk, walk it with heart. What feels like pressure today may one day be revealed as providence.

The lesson, then, is both humility and trust. When life drags you where you did not wish to go, pause and look deeper—perhaps it is leading you to your mountain. Accept guidance, even when it feels like constraint; persevere, even when the spark is not your own. For the day will come when the board beneath your feet, once a burden, becomes the instrument of your freedom. And from that summit, looking back, you will see that every step, every shove, every unseen purpose was the hand of destiny, gently—though firmly—teaching you to fly.