They Got Up, So Did I

Children on swing (from Google Image)

The other day, I was sitting in the garden when I noticed two kids playing nearby. One was on the swing, the other on the slide. They laughed, ran around, and stumbled as kids do. At one point, one of them fell. The other immediately came over, offered a hand, and helped him up. A few minutes later, the roles reversed. This time, the helper stumbled. And again, no teasing, no judgement just a small hand reaching out, and both of them giggling like nothing happened.

Watching them, I was taken back to my own childhood: those carefree weekends with cousins, and school recess breaks filled with running, falling, getting scraped, getting up, and running again. Nobody kept score of how many times we fell. Nobody cared. It was just fun. We didn’t overthink it. We just tried again.

But somewhere between then and now, something changed.

Now, we hesitate. We second guess. We ask: What if I fail? What if people notice me fall? We started linking falling with failing. We started worrying about who’s watching, what they’ll think, whether we’ll be “good enough.”

Now we measure everything: effort, results, appearances. We hesitate to try something new unless we’re sure we’ll succeed. We’re quick to hide our falls, and slow to extend ourselves the same kindness we once gave our playground friends.

Watching those kids made me wonder: maybe trying isn’t something we outgrow. Maybe we just forget how simple and human it really is.

That kid falling and getting back up? That’s courage. That’s resilience. That’s presence. That’s what growth actually looks like: messy, honest, a little uncertain, and full of heart. We learn to walk by stumbling down many times.

We often romanticise success. We put it on a pedestal, forgetting the hundred little quiet efforts it’s made of: the unseen practices, the awkward beginnings, the early mornings when we showed up even when it was hard.

What if we honored trying the way we honor achievement?

What if we let ourselves play again not to win, but to be in it, fully and sincerely?

What if instead of asking, “Will I be good at this?” we asked, “Am I willing to give this a go?”

Because when we were kids, that was enough. And honestly? Maybe it still is.

So here’s to trying: awkwardly, imperfectly, wholeheartedly. To stumbling and laughing it off. To remembering that life isn't a race to get everything right. It's a garden full of swings and slides and second chances. And maybe it’s not about getting the perfect momentum, it’s just about being willing to get back on the swing even if you fall.