When I was a kid, I somehow convinced my mom to buy me Resident Evil for the Nintendo GameCube. It was what first caught my eye when I browsed the counter display. It looked dark and mysterious and screamed cool in that way only kids can truly fall for. I wasn't ready.

I remember booting it up with wide eyes and a heart full of excitement... and then crashing headfirst into a wall of tank controls, cryptic puzzles, and a camera that felt like it was actively working against me. I was lost. I didn't understand the mechanics, the vibe was more anxiety-inducing than fun, and I felt like I had made a huge mistake. So, after some internal panic and external whining, we returned it. Thankfully, my mom was cool about it.

And that's when I picked up Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3. No zombies. No fear. Just pure adrenaline, style, and freedom wrapped in pixelated skateparks and a soundtrack that would shape my taste in music forever. That game was a doorway. I didn't just play THPS3—I lived it.

I started skateboarding. I explored punk, hip-hop, ska, and bands I still listen to today. I'd come home from school, drop my bag, and jump into that game for hours. I wasn't just passing time—I was discovering who I was. THPS3 made me feel like I belonged to a world bigger than my small town. It had style, edge, rebellion, and it felt like the coolest place on Earth.

Now I'm in my 30s. Life's become a long blur of computers, meetings, and different kinds of missions that don't offer combo multipliers or sick tricks. I've played more video games than I can count, chased countless digital highs—but none of them hit quite like skating down Los Angeles in THPS3 to the sound of AFI or Del the Funky Homosapien.

That nostalgia still lingers like a warm memory just out of reach. And lately, it's been whispering to me. So I've decided: before a potential mid-life crisis knocks on my door with a soulless gym membership or overpriced sports car, I'm going back to where I felt most alive. I'm getting back on a board. I want to feel the real pavement again. Not just for the exercise, but to reconnect with that fearless part of me that THPS3 helped uncover. There's still time. I'm still young-ish. And if I fall, well… I've fallen before. But the thing about skating—real or digital—is that you always get back up.