One of the most fascinating aspects of progress, in skateboarding, in leadership, in life, is how something almost impossibly difficult can, once achieved, suddenly feel within reach for many others.

Tony Hawk’s landing of the first 900 in competition on 27 June 1999 was one of those moments. For years, the 900 (a 2.5-revolution aerial spin) had been attempted and abandoned. Hawk’s successful landing during the X Games in San Francisco was the product of countless failed tries, injuries, and a level of persistence few could match. At 31 years old, he became the first skateboarder in history to pull it off under competition pressure.

Fast forward to 15 June 2024. At Tony Hawk’s own Vert Alert competition in Salt Lake City, nine-year-old Ema Kawakami made history by landing three back-to-back 900s. The skateboarding world was astonished, not just because of his age, but because of how quickly he had closed the gap between possibility and mastery. When Tony Hawk asked how long it took him to learn the 900 after mastering the 720, Ema’s reply was as casual as it was revealing: “One day.”

The trick that had taken years of collective striving, trial, and failure to accomplish for the first time had become something a child could learn in 24 hours. The leap in performance wasn’t down to luck or even raw talent alone, it was the fact that someone had already proven it could be done. The mental barrier had been removed.

In leadership, this same principle applies. Once a challenge is shown to be achievable, the path to it becomes dramatically shorter for those who follow. The breakthrough of one becomes the baseline for the next. Leaders who can show, not just tell, what is possible remove layers of fear and uncertainty for their teams. The result is an acceleration of progress that can seem almost magical, until you realise it’s the direct result of belief replacing doubt.

When Ema Kawakami told Tony Hawk it had taken him just one day to master what Hawk had once fought for years to achieve, Hawk didn’t bristle or try to defend his own struggle. He laughed. His face showed genuine pleasure mixed with disbelief. This is the reaction to the impossible that fuels high-functioning teams, where someone else’s leap forward is met with joy, not jealousy. It’s a culture that celebrates progress, no matter who achieves it first, and it’s in this culture that existential leaps, the kind that change the game entirely, become possible.