What if failing wasn’t an option
There’s a very specific moment I recognize almost every session. Conditions are good. Wind is in the sweet spot. I’m riding an 8 meter, waves are playful, nothing sketchy is happening. And yet, I find myself not trying the thing I came for. I ride another wave. I do another safe transition. I tell myself I’m “warming up,” even though I’ve been on the water for an hour.
What would I do if I couldn’t fail? Not just in kitesurfing, but in how seriously I take myself inside this sport, the goals I say out loud, and the space I allow myself to occupy.
What I would actually try
If failing didn’t exist, I wouldn’t suddenly turn into a fearless animal. I wouldn’t send the biggest loop of my life out of nowhere, yet. But i would try way more, on and off the water.
I’d try more wave riding on both side without overthinking which one looks better. I’d stop rushing sections and actually let the wave do its thing. I’d let my kite drift instead of yanking it back like it’s a panic button. I’d go downwind more, trust my board, and stop correcting every micro mistake like the ocean is keeping score. I would try all the strapless freestyle tricks even if the water is not flat, and without overthinking all of the steps.
Right now, that looks like looping after a jump to regain speed, not full power madness, just commitment. Eventually, it looks like strapless airs and combining flow tricks with a loop at the end. The handstand 360 into a loop scares me for all the right reasons, which usually means it’s exactly where I should be.
If failing didn’t exist, I wouldn’t save those attempts for perfect days. I’d try them on good days, okay days, and slightly messy days. Because progression doesn’t happen on Instagram days only.
Why failing feels personal to me
Failing in kitesurfing doesn’t feel neutral to me. It feels like a statement.
I’ve been kiting for about eight years now, which somehow makes failing feel worse, not better. Because at this point, it feels like I should already be past certain mistakes. When I mess up timing on a wave or bail on a loop, there’s this quiet voice saying, “You should know this by now.”
And the thing is, failing in kitesurfing is public. But also, nobody cares.
You don’t quietly suck in your own corner. You fall in front of friends, random beach legends, visiting pros, photographers, and people who’ve only seen you ride on social media.
Failing starts to feel like:
Proof I’m not as good as people think.
Proof I talk too much about progression.
Proof I shouldn’t try new things publicly.
Proof I should stay in my comfort zone.
Proof I suck at this after 8 years.
That’s when fear stops being about safety and starts being about identity. About how I’m perceived. About whether I’m allowed to still be learning.
Gear doubt sneaks in quietly
One thing I don’t hear people talk about enough is how much gear doubt affects progression.
On paper, my setup is fine. I ride a 10, 8, and 6 meter, mostly wave kites. I’ve got two directional boards, one more wave focused, one more freestyle oriented. But I also know my bar isn’t trimmed perfectly, and my lines aren’t always perfectly even. I think if I crash my 8 meter kite it will explode in the near future.
That thought creeps in exactly when it matters most.
Every time I think about looping, there’s a split second where I wonder if my lines are uneven enough to make it weird. Not dangerous, just weird enough to hesitate. And hesitation is where loops go to die and you fly after it.
Wave kites are amazing for drift, but sometimes I feel like they’re not helping me progress in freestyle the way I want. I can feel that I need something a bit more all-round, something that still drifts but gives me more pull out of transitions and jumps.
Gear fear shows up like this:
Looping feels less trustworthy.
Commitment drops just enough to bail.
Sessions turn into cruising instead of trying.
I use conditions and my set up as excuse to not try.
This doesn’t mean new gear magically fixes fear. But pretending gear doesn’t influence confidence is lying to yourself. Even something simple like regularly checking line lengths or properly tuning your bar can make the difference between sending and stalling.
Injuries leave mental residue
I’ve been injured before. Nothing dramatic, but enough to take me out for weeks, sometimes a few months. And that kind of break leaves a mark.
After that, every crash feels heavier. Every powered attempt carries a silent “what if.” I start riding safer without consciously deciding to.
I notice it when:
I bail early instead of committing.
I avoid powered moves even on good days.
I tell myself I’m “listening to my body”.
I stop pushing without admitting it.
Fear after injury isn’t weakness. It’s information. But if you let it fully take over, it slowly shrinks your world. And creates that friction between wanting to improve and not doing it.
Not trying enough is my real mistake
If I’m honest, my biggest mistake isn’t failing too much. It’s not trying enough.
I bail early. I try once, mess it up, and then avoid that move for the rest of the session. I convince myself I’m waiting for the right moment, but really, I’m protecting my ego.
In wave riding, I notice I often:
Send the kite too fast and lose rhythm.
Don’t go downwind enough, aka scared for a bit of speed.
Bailing after one shitty turn.
Overcorrect instead of trusting the board.
Only taking the small waves.
If failing didn’t exist, I’d treat sessions as experiments instead of performances. One messy attempt would be data, not judgment.
There’s a great mindset breakdown of this in the Is kitesurfing hard yes and no post, which explains why mental friction often blocks physical progression.
When kiting becomes more than kiting
Fear doesn’t stop at the waterline.
The more I create content, write blogs, make videos, and talk about kitesurfing publicly, the more failing feels exposed. Suddenly, it’s not just about crashing. It’s about credibility.
What if I talk too much?
What if I’m not good enough to be a voice?
What if people don’t take Berito seriously?
What if I commit and it doesn’t grow?
Not committing feels safer because it preserves potential. As long as I’m half-in, I can always say I could have gone all in.
But that’s also where stagnation lives.
Owning space in the kitesurfing world doesn’t require being a pro. It requires consistency, honesty, and being willing to be seen learning in public. That’s uncomfortable. And that’s exactly why it matters. Am I gonna change that, probably not.
If I truly couldn’t fail
If failing truly didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be fearless. I’d just stop negotiating with fear.
I’d:
Try the thing at least twice instead of once.
Commit even if it looks messy.
Fix my setup instead of blaming conditions.
Talk openly about what I’m building.
Be okay with going all in and finding out along the way if it works or not.
And be delusional enough to think I worthy to be a sponsored kiter.
Progress doesn’t come from confidence first. Confidence follows action, not the other way around.
You don’t become legit by waiting.
You don’t grow by protecting the fantasy.
You grow by trying while it’s still imperfect.
Before you leave the beach
Next session, before you launch, ask yourself one honest question. What would I try right now if failing wasn’t an option?Then do the smallest version of that.
Fear hates small, repeated attempts almost as much as it hates full commitment.
And honestly, the only thing more painful than crashing in front of everyone is standing there, dry, pretending you never wanted to try anyway.
xox Berito