About three months ago, my oldest daughter (who’s 5-and-a-half) had a bad fall off the monkey bars in school.

Nothing broke, but the bruise was bad enough that doctors told her to stay off the bars for a while.

Her only question was: How long would that be?

She hadn’t been back on the monkey bar since.

But yesterday afternoon, talking about going back to school after the holiday break, the first thing she brought up was recess. I realized immediately what was going on.

She desperately wanted to try the monkey bars again, but she was afraid her body wasn’t ready (or that she might fall again). She also worried that she was no longer good enough to keep up with her other two friends.

I suggested she try anyway. She refused.

“I will never, ever do the monkey bars ever again.”

I took a deep breath. It was time for a story.

Earlier that day, we’d both seen a flashy machine at a 5th Avenue pop-up that could instantly turn ideas into real stickers. It felt a lot like something I’ve been slowly trying to build myself.

When I saw the sticker machine, I instantly fell into “a mood.” It makes me grumpy to see well-funded startups and ubiquitous tech companies take on a similar angle to a problem I’ve been poking at on my own with far fewer resources. Some days, it makes me feel like not playing the game at all.

I told her all this.

I told her about the hard thing I’d been working on, about feeling proud some days and defeated on others, and about how scary it is to try again after you fall.

Then I made her a deal. If she would try the monkey bars again, I would try my scary thing too.

She wrinkled her nose, looked closely at me and said, “My thing is harder.”

But then she called her dad into the room and asked him to take her to the playground for a practice session right then and there.

She made it all the way across on the first try.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to play on the monkey bars as a grown-up.

As it turns out out, building in public is a lot like practicing at recess. The only way to get better is to try in front of everyone else. Time is limited. The more people who want a turn, the fewer chances you get. And if you fall, you have to decide for yourself when you’re ready to climb back up.

When you’re the one inching your way across the bars, day after day, it’s easy to forget that most kids only take a turn or two, then run off to something else entirely. The kids who look confident at the end of the year are usually just the ones who stayed a little longer than everyone else.

Which brings us back to today.

It’s the first day back at work at the start of a new year.

And that means it’s time for all of us to get back on the monkey bars (whether you think you’re ready or not).

About three months ago, my oldest daughter (who’s 5-and-a-half) had a bad fall off the monkey bars in school.

Nothing broke, but the bruise was bad enough that doctors told her to stay off the bars for a while.

Her only question was: How long would that be?

She hadn’t been back on the monkey bar since.

But yesterday afternoon, talking about going back to school after the holiday break, the first thing she brought up was recess. I realized immediately what was going on.

She desperately wanted to try the monkey bars again, but she was afraid her body wasn’t ready (or that she might fall again). She also worried that she was no longer good enough to keep up with her other two friends.

I suggested she try anyway. She refused.

“I will never, ever do the monkey bars ever again.”

I took a deep breath. It was time for a story.

Earlier that day, we’d both seen a flashy machine at a 5th Avenue pop-up that could instantly turn ideas into real stickers. It felt a lot like something I’ve been slowly trying to build myself.

When I saw the sticker machine, I instantly fell into “a mood.” It makes me grumpy to see well-funded startups and ubiquitous tech companies take on a similar angle to a problem I’ve been poking at on my own with far fewer resources. Some days, it makes me feel like not playing the game at all.

I told her all this.

I told her about the hard thing I’d been working on, about feeling proud some days and defeated on others, and about how scary it is to try again after you fall.

Then I made her a deal. If she would try the monkey bars again, I would try my scary thing too.

She wrinkled her nose, looked closely at me and said, “My thing is harder.”

But then she called her dad into the room and asked him to take her to the playground for a practice session right then and there.

She made it all the way across on the first try.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to play on the monkey bars as a grown-up.

As it turns out out, building in public is a lot like practicing at recess. The only way to get better is to try in front of everyone else. Time is limited. The more people who want a turn, the fewer chances you get. And if you fall, you have to decide for yourself when you’re ready to climb back up.

When you’re the one inching your way across the bars, day after day, it’s easy to forget that most kids only take a turn or two, then run off to something else entirely. The kids who look confident at the end of the year are usually just the ones who stayed a little longer than everyone else.

Which brings us back to today.

It’s the first day back at work at the start of a new year.

And that means it’s time for all of us to get back on the monkey bars (whether you think you’re ready or not).