This post is part of a series: 5 things skiing taught me about leading change. You can find the other posts in this series here.

When I started teaching I knew I was coming in at the bottom of the heap. I was the new guy, I didn’t yet have any current certifications, and my last instructing experience was more than two decades in my past. Put another way, I knew that I wasn’t going to get the most advanced assignments right out of the gate. I also knew I wasn’t coming in as an executive or leader of any kind. In fact, I was an hourly employee and a whole chain of management above me. Putting on airs wasn’t going to win me any friends. I made a decision early to say yes eagerly and to approach each assignment with curiosity. If you know me, you may be appropriately falling off your chair at this point. To put it gently, this hasn’t usually been my default approach.

There were times when we were overstaffed. One of those days, a day when I’d really wanted to teach, it was clear there were no more guests coming and I hadn’t been assigned. I thought well, at least I can go skiing. And that’s when I was assigned to go help set up the race course. It was still early in the season and that meant getting the nets, flags, and timing equipment out of storage, carrying it all up the hill, and setting up the course. It was manual labor that didn’t involve much, if any skiing. And it was my first chance to really remind myself to say yes eagerly and be curious about what was next.

It was amazing! First, I got to meet another new hire who would become a ski buddy and friend. I got to get up close with a lot of stuff people never get to see from the inside like the race start building and the timing computer. I got to see how the gates get put together. I got to use a huge drill with a two-foot-long ice bit. It was hard work, but it was a peek behind the curtain to a different part of mountain operations and a chance to meet new friends.

A few years ago, a senior leader asked me and my team to work with a major Silicon Valley tech company on an initiative. I had a strong sense that while it was a sexy collaboration, it wasn’t going to produce meaningful results. There were other players involved and the whole thing was fraught with complicated relationships. In short, it wasn’t my idea of real innovation, it was more of a G8 summit of big egos who didn’t all see eye to eye. I drug my feet and resisted taking on the project. My lack of enthusiasm was pretty apparent; so much so, I was replaced as the effort’s owner after a few months.

Today, that collaboration has produced some recent headlines. I’m still not sold on the real value, but what I do know is that I missed a chance to be at the table with curiosity. I missed a chance to learn how other cutting edge companies work, to see behind some curtains, and to meet new professional friends.

Saying yes with curiosity doesn’t mean a life-long commitment to a project. Rolling fences on a race course one day didn’t mean that was my assignment for the rest of winter. And saying yes to an ill-fated effort doesn’t mean we’ve hitched our horse to that wagon for the entire journey. Both are opportunities to practice curiosity, broaden our perspectives, and hopefully come off as a team player.