I’ve never flown a kite.
The last – and only – time I tried was when I was very young. My school was going to have a kite flying day, and my dad got me a diamond-shaped kite decorated with the stars and stripes. I was proud of that thing.
Some assembly was required. I had taken the time to figure out how to put it together. All on my own. I was about five or six years old, I think. I had put this thing together, went outside, and I wanted to fly it.
But it wouldn’t go into the air.
An older kid stopped by and offered to help. He couldn’t get it to fly, either. He handed it back to me and said it was a stupid kite that just won’t fly. Something in that didn’t ring true. I saw my kite, earth bound and not soaring, and I couldn’t figure out why I knew the kite should fly but didn’t. Instead, I was too young to do anything but feel overwhelmed. I took the kite home and announced it didn’t fly, like it was all my fault.
Fast forward to now, several decades later, and the weather outside is breezy and nice. The sun is shining. Yeah, the pollen will kick my ass, but the weather isn’t humid yet. It’s the perfect day to fly a kite. I don’t have one.
But I’d like one.
I’d like one just to tell my younger self that I could have flown it if I’d had more time to figure it out. That it isn’t a failure to try something new and not succeed. It’s a process, a joyous journey of learning and getting better at a thing. It might be messy, and there might be setbacks. In the end, it’s about getting something into the air and watching it soar.