Hey. Hey. This is Nicholas Kleve with the Outdoor Funky Podcast.

This is a space where adventure meets everyday life, where I share stories, lessons, and real experiences that help you get outside, try something new, and live a little more fully. Today’s episode is how to find flow when you’re just starting something new.

Before I get into it, I want to ground myself in gratitude, sharing three things that I’m thankful for. The first thing that I’m thankful for is the opportunity to try new things even when I’m not good at them yet.

The second thing that I’m thankful for is people who help along the way, even when you don’t expect it. And the third thing that I’m thankful for is the ability to get outside, to move, and to keep learning through experience.

Let’s get back into the main topic—how to find flow when you’re just starting something new.

I keep going back to three different times in my life—three different times where I started something new and it just didn’t feel right.

When I was starting to snowboard, when I was starting to stand up paddleboard, and when I was riding a one wheel, all three of those times I struggled. I fell a lot.

Not just once or twice—over and over again. Trying to stand up, falling. Trying to find balance, losing it. Trying to move forward and just feeling off.

And what surprised me the most was how quickly it got into my head.

Because when your body isn’t doing what you want it to do, your mind starts talking—saying things like, “Why can’t I figure this out?” “This should be easier.” Or, “Maybe this just isn’t for me.”

And that’s the moment right there—that’s where people sometimes stop.

That’s where you step off, laugh it off, and say, “Yeah, I tried.”

I felt that especially with the one wheel. There was a point where I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep going. I even thought about selling it.

I bought it used. I was hopeful. But it didn’t feel natural. It didn’t feel stable. And I didn’t fully trust myself yet.

But something kept pulling me back.

I think it was this—I had seen what it looked like when people could do it.

I had seen snowboarders flying down the hill. I had seen people gliding across the water on stand up paddleboards. I had seen people riding a one wheel like it was nothing.

And you could tell they weren’t just doing it—they were enjoying it.

And I wanted that.

So I stayed with it.

And what’s interesting is every time I stayed with it, something helped me.

When I was snowboarding, I had middle school kids helping me understand balance and movement.

When I was learning the one wheel, I had YouTube—what I jokingly call “YouTube University.”

And when I was learning stand up paddleboarding, I had an instructor helping me understand balance, movement, and foot positioning.

I think back to the one wheel—watching videos, rewatching them, trying things, adjusting, trying again.

There was even a point where I used a land paddle to help with balance—almost like a crutch in those early stages.

And slowly—very slowly—things started to click.

With all three activities, it didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy.

But things started to click enough.

Enough to stay up a little longer. Enough to feel a little more stable. Enough to start believing, “Okay, maybe I can do this.”

And here’s what I learned through all of this:

Flow doesn’t happen at the beginning.

It comes after the awkward. After the falling. After the frustration. After the moments where you’re not sure if you should keep going.

We think flow is something we should feel right away—like we should step into something new and it just works.

But that’s not how it works.

You don’t start in flow. You start in struggle.

And I had to accept something that changed everything:

I was going to fail.

Not just once—but over and over again.

And that wasn’t the problem.

It was part of the process.

Once I stopped fighting that—once I slowed things down, focused on getting a little better each time—that’s when things started to shift.

That’s when my body started to understand.

That’s when my mind started to quiet down.

That’s when I stopped forcing it—and started working with it.

And that’s when flow started to show up.

This shows up everywhere.

In learning. In teaching. In life.

We expect things to feel smooth right away.

And when they don’t, we think something is wrong—with us or with what we’re trying to do.

But what if nothing is wrong?

What if you are exactly where you’re supposed to be?

I see this with kids all the time.

They try something new, it feels awkward, and they shut down. They think they’re not good at it.

I’ve seen it in the classroom. I’ve seen it as a stand up paddleboard instructor on the water.

We might be working on a pivot turn, and if they don’t get it right away, they shut down.

But they just haven’t stayed with it long enough.

The ones who grow—the ones who improve—the ones who eventually find the rhythm—are the ones who stay in it.

Who accept the awkward.

Who understand that mistakes are part of learning.

And it’s not about performing at a high level right away.

Even now, I’m better at all three—snowboarding, riding my one wheel, and especially stand up paddleboarding.

But I still lose my balance sometimes.

I still have moments where it doesn’t feel smooth.

That never fully goes away.

But now I don’t panic when it happens.

Now I don’t overthink it.

Now I just adjust—and keep going.

And honestly—that’s where the real enjoyment starts.

So here’s the big takeaway:

If it feels awkward at the start, you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Stay with it.

So go explore, be yourself, get outside, get funky. Bye now.