A Beautiful Burst: Trying, Failing, and Not Giving Up

When I turned 27, I decided I wanted to learn how to longboard. Not because I had a plan, not because I thought I’d be amazing at it, and definitely not because I had any real clue what I was doing. I just wanted to feel that rush—the kind of freedom you see in grainy summer videos, gliding down sun-warmed sidewalks, wind in your hair, wheels humming beneath you. So, I bought myself a longboard.

 

And I tried.

I rode it around the neighborhood. I brought it with me when I started nannying. I coasted in parking lots. But truthfully? I hated going downhill. The thought of catching speed and falling hard terrified me. I could imagine every scraped knee, fractured wrist, or worse. It wasn’t exactly the carefree thrill I had envisioned.

So I slowed down. Literally and figuratively. I kept trying here and there, but I didn’t push myself to conquer the hills. I didn’t become a longboarding girl the way I once thought I might.

Now, turning 33, I’ve been reflecting on that version of myself. The one who bought a longboard with big energy and a spark of curiosity. I haven’t mastered it. I didn’t stick with it. But I’m still proud of that version of me. Because she tried. She chased an impulse toward something new and a little wild.

And I guess that’s what I’m writing to say:

Not every new thing you try has to become a forever thing.

It doesn’t have to become your identity, your “thing,” or even your next phase.

Sometimes a new beginning can just be a moment.

A burst of light. A few days of fresh energy. A couple hundred bucks spent. A memory that still makes you smile.

The world tells us to “find our passions” and stick to them, to grind, to master, to succeed. But what if the goal is just to try? What if trying is enough?

Because inspiration doesn’t always last. Creativity comes in waves. Courage can be seasonal. But our willingness to try—that’s the muscle that matters. That’s what I want to keep alive.

I haven’t given up on the dream of learning to longboard. I still feel like I’ll pick it up again one day. Maybe when I’m 35. Maybe with my daughter watching. Maybe with knee pads and no shame.

But in the meantime, I’m collecting these sparks.

Trying things.

Letting them burn bright and then fade.

And trusting that every time I follow my curiosity, I’m becoming a fuller version of myself.

So here’s to the moments that didn’t last forever but still mattered.

Here’s to trying.

With love,

MK