I vividly recall the day I landed my first kickflip, a moment that filled me with immeasurable pride. Navigating weekends through public transport to various skateparks, I let the sounds of wheels on pavement and the clack of my skateboard drown out any worries. However, when I turned 19, I felt a strong pressure to transition into adulthood, which made me yearn for a professional skateboarding career to validate my skateboarding passion.
For two years, my life revolved around skating, akin to a training montage in a movie. Skateparks became my sanctuary while I immersed myself in skateboarding culture. I dismissed social events, determinedly focusing on refining my skills. Yet, despite my efforts, I realised I wasn’t improving—so, I stopped skating altogether. The joy I once felt morphed into frustration, and my skateboard was stored away, long forgotten.
Fast forward more than a decade, at age 34, I rediscovered my old board while decluttering, coinciding perfectly with Australia’s Olympic skateboarding excitement and Arisa Trew’s gold medal win. The cheers of the crowd ignited my memories—skateboarding was about fun, and I had lost that essence.
Despite having faced my inhibitions, a voice in my head insisted that leisure needed to come only after accomplishments, a belief I had gradually learned to silence. However, the thought of stepping into a skate store to replace my crumbling skateboard was daunting. Jamie Knapp, owner of a Sydney skate shop, reassured me, stating, “Don’t be afraid of sucking,” which struck a chord. His words provided the encouragement I needed to shed my self-imposed limitations regarding adulthood and skateboarding.
I sensed others around me were also feeling this call to revisit the joy of skating. My friend Aimee Joy, a former professional, actively skates in her thirties, expressing that her enjoyment of the sport is at an all-time high despite past injuries.
When I finally returned to the skatepark, I meticulously planned my re-entry, fearing judgement. However, upon arrival, I found a diverse group of riders, all engrossed in their enjoyment. They offered encouragement as I wobbled and stumbled, demonstrating a shared camaraderie free of judgement.
As I hopped on my board and began to roll, I was struck by how familiar it felt—like no time had passed. I embraced the present moment, acknowledging that the journey back to skating was not about impressing but about rekindling joy, leaving ambitions and anxieties behind for a simple rediscovery of play.