Rollercoasters in the Living Room

Last week was one of those weeks. You know the ones—full of little moments that sneak up on you and start drawing lines between things you didn’t even realise were connected.

First: my son has learnt to ride his bike. Properly. No stabilisers, no running alongside holding the seat like I’m sprinting for Olympic qualification. Just him, legs pumping, wind in his hair, shouting “I’M DOING IT!” with that mix of panic and pride that never really leaves us, even as adults. A couple of days later, he cracked swimming too. Same energy. Wobbly start, big splash, then suddenly—freedom. He’s off. Independent. Unstoppable. Possibly even a little smug.

And honestly? I get it. That feeling of momentum, of finally doing the thing, is magic.

Also, I found myself watching the brilliant Hannah Fry’s The Secret Genius of Modern Life—the rollercoaster episode. There was this couple who had their toddler in a washing basket in front of the telly, playing a POV rollercoaster video, bouncing him around like a human theme park ride. Completely ridiculous. Completely brilliant. I couldn’t stop laughing—and also, I couldn’t stop thinking about how committed they were to creating experience. To making a moment.

It reminded me of watching the Stranger Things stage show on Wednesday for the first time — first live, then the behind-the-scenes documentary the next day (because of course I did). The sheer tension, creativity, exhaustion, and joy behind making that kind of theatre—it’s next-level. You see people pushing themselves past comfort into something electric. You feel the risk. The discipline. The madness. The passion. All for the chance to make people feel something real.

That same thread ran through other parts of the week too. I met some new creatives for the first time—those fresh, fizzing conversations where you’re throwing ideas around like popcorn and trying to look cool while secretly thinking oh this is going to be good. And I reconnected with a few brilliant people I’ve worked with before, and it felt like picking up right where we left off—like the creative version of riding a bike. You don’t forget.

And underneath it all—whether it’s a toddler in a washing basket, a kid in the deep end, or adults hurtling towards deadlines and dream projects—I keep coming back to this thought: growth is messy, thrilling, and just a little bit hilarious. It never looks graceful when you’re in it. But if you zoom out, it’s all so alive.

This week reminded me that progress doesn’t always look like big wins or neat milestones. Sometimes it’s chaos. Sometimes it’s sweat and swearing and “just one more go.” Sometimes it’s a washing basket rollercoaster ride that ends in a giggle fit.

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s everything.

So wherever you are—mid-project, mid-wobble, mid-life—keep going. Keep pedalling. Keep splashing. Keep making weird little rollercoasters out of whatever you’ve got to hand.

Turns out, that’s where the good stuff lives.