Weeks ago, on the last warm autumn afternoon, Mark and I walked along the river. Eventually, we arrived at Telulah park. People played disc golf, families communed, and kids embraced the skate park. One kid waited patiently, then took a turn: skateboard revved, onto the downhill, up the curved side, and then his moment, an attempted trick, which left him on the ground. He stood up, walked away, and waited for his next turn.  

The visual stays with me. Try something new, fall down, get back up, and try again.

This process is how we learned to ride a bike, play an instrument, make art, engage in sport, write and speak, and cultivate relationships. Still, there’s a vital piece missing as adults. We seek perfection and certainty. Put another way, we seek to not be blamed, judged, or questioned. 

To meditate daily, I need conditions to be “just right.” My creative idea must be fully (perfectly!) formed before I show others. I can’t do the work of anti-racism until I know everything I need to know.

Each of these beliefs is a prison. There is no perfection. There is no certainty. We experiment, fall down, get back up, and try again. We can learn from that kid on the skateboard. He (publicly!) fell down. And it wasn’t a big deal. He got up and made another pass.

Meditation is a life-long practice. Creativity is thousands of mistakes and a few great ideas. Anti-racist work is vulnerable, messy, and courageous. 

We fall down. We get up. And we begin again.