Ah, skateboarding! A thrilling hobby that I, George Wang, nurtured like a weird pet since my childhood. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get decked in the face by a rogue skateboard as a kid? Not exactly what I envisioned as a career choice, but life has a penchant for surprising you like that obnoxious party guest who just won’t leave.
Born and raised in Colorado Springs, I moved to Monterey Park when I was thirteen, that golden age when kids discover that gravity is not just a suggestion. My 20s were a whirlwind of selling tattoo supplies and hopping from one tattoo expo to another like some sort of ink-slinging gypsy. Then at 28, instead of an epiphany, I had a quarter-life crisis and decided to dive headfirst into standup comedy—always a safe bet for financial security, right? After ten years of scraping by in the Los Angeles arts scene, I was so broke even my wallet filed for bankruptcy.
Enter the Skateboard Life Coach: A Job I Never Knew I Needed
In 2018, a fellow comedian—because nothing says “trust me” like earning an income through comedy—introduced me to a skateboard coaching gig with Woodcraft Rangers, a nonprofit that somehow convinced schools it would be a good idea to let me guide their children on wheels. I went through a rigorous training, but let’s be real: CPR certification is the least ridiculous requirement to qualify for life coaching in the skate world.
From Afterschool Specials to Championship Glory
So there I was, teaching a bunch of kids how to skate after school, working three-hour classes while living like a cartoon character out of a road trip movie. Each semester culminated in a skateboarding championship! Spoiler alert: my crew won first place twice. What can I say? I’m an influence! Except when I got in trouble for posting their glorious wipeouts on Instagram. Apparently, their parents didn’t sign up for that kind of publicity.
COVID-19: The Ultimate Comedy Blocker
Then came March, and my girlfriend suggested I hop onto TikTok during the pandemic—a brilliant stroke of genius or sheer madness? Initially, I hesitated, thinking the app wasn’t suited for my comedic genius. But, like most things in 2020, I took the plunge and started posting short videos combining comedy with my newly discovered coaching gigs. Soon, my followers exploded like a piñata at a kid’s birthday party—10,000 followers overnight! Yay, me!
The Kids are Alright, Even with Epic Falls
My viral fame truly hit when I filmed a 6-year-old kid named Silas trying out some gnarly skateboarding tricks. Multiple tumbles ensued, yet he insisted, “Don’t be sorry, I want more coaching!” There I was, caught in a heartwarming moment. I posted it, and it shot up to 800,000 views faster than I could say “wipeout.” And just like that, I was thrust into the skate culture revival, with requests flooding in from aspiring young skaters and confused parents alike.
Skating into Financial Bliss
Fast forward to today, and I’m now coaching five to six kids daily, with a waitlist that could rival my grocery list during the pandemic. Private lessons pay handsomely, ranging from $200 to $280 for four one-hour sessions—because why not cash in while teaching kids how to gloriously flaunt their risk of injury? My TikTok following now hovers around 115,000, and monetizing my newfound fame certainly beats eating instant ramen every day.
The Future: A Skateboarding App that’s 100% Serious
As I drive around L.A. like a taxi driver for aspiring skaters, I contemplate the future. My grand plan? Launching an app—a Tinder for skateboard coaches. Imagine it: users swiping right for the perfect coach while sipping avocado lattes. My brand of life-coaching comes with lesson plans and a sprinkle of existential advice because, let’s face it, who doesn’t need a sprinkle of wisdom while learning to skate?
In all fairness, while I never thought my life at 39 would be all about sharing my passion for skateboarding, it feels refreshing, almost like I found the fountain of youth, only with less plastic surgery and more skateboard decks. Ultimately, I aim to empower all those closet dreamers out there—those too scared to actually pick up a skateboard. So here I am, rediscovering my youth, one lesson at a time, while pocketing enough cash to impress my dad. Cheers to accidental careers!
