One afternoon many years ago, I arrived early to pick up my mother from work. I parked by the curb across from her workplace and waited.
Looking out the car window to my right, I saw a small park. There, a little boy of about one and a half to two years old was running freely on the grass, his mother watching from a short distance. He wore a huge smile, as if just released from a prison. He would fall, get up, and without hesitation or a glance back at his mother, run as fast as he could again, still smiling as if nothing had happened.
For young children, falling isn't perceived as failure but as a learning experience. They feel compelled to try repeatedly until they succeed. They haven't yet associated "falling down" with "failure," so they aren't disempowered by it. Subconsciously, they give themselves permission to make mistakes, believing it's perfectly okay to fall.
I was touched not only by the boy's persistence but also by the manner of his running. With each attempt, he looked utterly confident and natural—no fear, nervousness, or discouragement, as if he didn't care about the world around him.
His sole aim was to run freely and as effectively as he could. He was simply being a child, being himself, completely in the moment. He wasn't seeking approval, worrying about being watched, or concerned about judgment. The potential embarrassment of others seeing him fall didn't bother him. All that mattered was accomplishing the task at hand to the best of his ability: to run and to fully feel the experience of running freely.
That observation taught me a profound lesson, which I have carried into many pursuits in my life.