Every year, I’ve found myself taking on a new Halloween project to share with my colleagues. It started small—a simple carved pumpkin, lit with flickering LEDs I’d wired together myself. That first project brought a few smiles, and the spark of joy it created motivated me to try again the next year. Each Halloween, I challenged myself to do something bigger and better. A miniature haunted house. An toy pumpkin remote controlled racing car. A fog-spewing cauldron. Every year, I pushed a little further.

But this year, I went all in. I decided to build something I had no idea how to even begin—a tabletop pinball machine. Not a toy or a flimsy gimmick, but a real machine, complete with flippers, bumpers, flashing lights, and a score board that screamed Halloween theme. It was about one-third the size of a traditional pinball machine, and it was, by far, the most elaborate thing I’d ever attempted.

The problem was, I had no clue how to build it. None. I didn’t know how the mechanics worked, let alone the electronics. I could have let that stop me—maybe I should have. But instead, I dove in. I spent months researching. I read forums. I learned to solder wires, 3D print, cut wood to precise dimensions, and troubleshoot circuits. I failed a lot—more than I’d like to admit. But each setback taught me something new, and piece by piece, the machine started to take shape.

When I finally brought the finished machine into the office. I was nervous, I knew people were looking forward to what I would come up with this year and could I wow the crowd. To my surprise, it didn’t just work—it created something unexpected. My colleagues loved it. What started as casual fun turned into a full-on pinball tournament. People from different departments were suddenly cheering, laughing, and competing. The break room transformed into a hub of energy and excitement.

That was the moment I realized something profound. Building the machine wasn’t just about proving I could do it or showing off a cool project. It was about creating a spark—an opportunity for connection, for joy, for people to share a moment of fun together.

I didn’t know any of this when I started. All I knew was that I had an idea that felt out of reach, but wanted to learn about electronics, so I wanted to try. And that’s the lesson I want to share: if you have a project in mind, don’t let uncertainty or inexperience hold you back. Dive in. Learn as you go. Even if you don’t know how to begin, just begin. The process of creating, failing, learning, and ultimately building something is its own reward.

And sometimes, the result isn’t just a finished project—it’s the happiness, connection, and laughter you bring to others. That’s a kind of fulfillment that’s worth every moment of effort. So the next time you find yourself wondering, "Can I really do this?" take a chance. You might be surprised at what you can create—and the joy it can inspire.