On trying, failing, and what kids know that we’ve forgotten.

Somewhere between being a kid and being an adult, we stopped knocking the tower down.

Kids build something, knock it over, and start again without thinking twice. No grief. No story about what it means. Just grab the blocks and go.

I’ve been thinking about why I don’t do that anymore. Why starting something new still has this weight to it.

The Shift

I remember the first time I felt it. Really felt it.

I was a kid, shy, and there was a solo up for grabs in our school choir for a state wide singing festival. I knew I could sing. But knowing you can do something and actually putting your hand up are two very different things.

I almost didn’t go for it.

But something shifted. I remember thinking — if I try and it doesn’t work, at least I learn something. And if I get it? Even better. That was it. That was the whole calculation. Simple. Clean. No catastrophising.

Somewhere between then and now that calculation got a lot more complicated.

The adult version adds so many more variables. What will people think. What if I lose money. What if I waste time. What if I’m seen trying and it doesn’t work. The shy kid just asked "what’s the worst that actually happens if I try?"

When did we stop asking that question?

What Other People Think

For me it showed up in a big way when I made the decision to close my mentoring program for teen and tween girls.

I’d built it over five or six years. It mattered. It helped people. And then I got asked to speak at an event and something in me just - knew. My priorities had shifted. Having my own children had changed what I wanted to give my energy to. And I had to make a call.

The hardest part wasn’t the decision itself.

It was what I thought it would look like to everyone else. I was terrified of looking like I’d failed. Even though I hadn’t. Even though closing something intentionally, because you’ve grown and changed, is one of the most honest things you can do.

Starting it had been a risk. But somehow finishing it felt even riskier.

Because we’ve been taught that stopping means something went wrong. That walking away is the same as giving up. But what if it isn’t? What if sometimes the bravest build is knowing when to knock the tower down yourself before life does it for you?

The Adult Math

And then there’s the practical side of it. The math.

As adults we run calculations before we even pick up the first block. Time. Money. Resources. What’s the return. What’s the risk. Kids never do this. They just build.

But as a parent, especially as a mother, that math gets even heavier.

Because spending money on yourself, on an idea, on something you want to try, feels almost indulgent. We redirect it. To the kids. To the family. To everyone else first. And our own ideas sit quietly at the bottom of the list, waiting for a turn that never quite comes.

It’s not just about money though. It’s about permission.

Permission to take up space with something that’s just yours. Permission to try something that might not work. Permission to be a person with ambitions outside of everyone you love and care for.

Kids don’t need permission to build. They just do it.

When did we start waiting for someone to say it was okay?

Kids Fail Every Day

Think about how many times a child fails in a single day.

They fall learning to walk. They mangle words learning to talk. They build towers that collapse and puzzles that don’t fit and drawings that don’t look like what they imagined. They fail constantly, repeatedly, without pause.

And we cheer for every single attempt.

We clap. We encourage. We say try again. We celebrate the wobble before the first step. We frame the terrible drawing and stick it on the fridge.

Somewhere along the way the same people who were cheering went quiet. And we absorbed that silence. We started to believe that the rules had changed. That trying and failing was only cute when you were small.

It isn’t. It never was.

Pick Up The Blocks

So here’s what I keep coming back to.

The blocks are still there.

Everything you want to try, build, start, or restart, it’s still sitting there waiting. The fear is real. The adult math is real. The weight of what other people think is real. I’m not going to tell you none of that matters because it does.

But so does the thing you keep thinking about.

The idea that comes back. The thing you almost started. The version of yourself that wanted to try before you talked yourself out of it.

Kids don’t wait until they’re ready. They don’t wait until they have permission or until the risk feels smaller or until they’re sure it’s going to work. They just reach for the next block.

Maybe that’s all this is. Not a grand leap. Not a perfect plan. Just reaching.

Is there something you’ve been sitting on? Something that keeps coming back? Maybe it’s time to just pick up the blocks and see what you can build.