No Training Wheels

I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was ten years old.  I lived on a farm where it was easier or more reasonable to walk over the rough terrain than struggle with a bike.  The day finally came when I began to be teased by my friends for not having learned this basic childhood skill, so I went to my parents and asked for a bike.  My brother had only learned to ride a bike shortly before I decided to learn, also wanted a bike of his own and so the relentless pestering began until my mom got us bikes.  She drove by the local Trading Post on that Friday afternoon and saw a row of rusty old bikes out front.  From the rubble, we located a blue mountain bike and a pink town bike.  My brother promptly named his bike, "Blue Thunder," while I settled on "Pink Lady" for obvious reasons.

 

After a few days of the bike not being ridden, my dad asked why he had spent good money ($10 in the early 90s was good money indeed) on a bike I didn't ride.  "I'm waiting for training wheels," I explained.  I could see my dad's jaw clench, and immediately knew there would be no training wheels.  His lips curled back to speak, but his teeth remained clenched, "If I get you training wheels, you'll never take them off."  It is possible that my father just knew me really well, that his keen parental observations of my behavior and character gave him an insight into my soul and that he could tell that I was a person who would never walk on her own two feet if someone offered me a crutch.  It's far more likely though that dad didn't want to spend the time or money on training wheels as they would have cost more than the bike and been " a booger" to install.  Dad's eyes narrowed as he focused on me, "You wanted the bike," he said, then flicked his finger like a switchblade in the direction of Pink Lady, "now get out there and learn to ride it."

My older brother, ever the teacher, offered to show me how to correctly ride a bike.  After several attempts, he looked me over and decided we should switch our focus to how to safely fall off of a bike.  Both skills have served me well as I have indeed needed to know both how to ride a bike and how to throw myself off of a number of moving things-bikes, stubborn horses, tenacious mopeds, etc. moments before they crashed.  As frightened as I was of learning to ride with no safety precautions, (in addition to training wheels, Dad also didn't believe in the unnecessary expense involved in acquiring helmets or knee pads, making this an all or nothing venture)  I did learn to ride a bike in only a couple of grueling 12 hour days.  But, hey, that's what summer break is for.  I also learned something very important about myself: my dad was right, if I have the safety net, I'll never take it down.  If I don't have it, I usually do just fine, or at least learn to fall properly.

I have recently begun two new jobs and started taking classes.  I have remarked several times that I've never been so bad at so many things at once.  It's all new, and scary, and I'm learning, but while I'm still learning, I am making a lot of mistakes.  At one of my jobs, my co worker was suddenly called away for a week on a family emergency and I was left without a safety net.  She said I could message her with questions, but how could I bother her while she was sitting in a hospital waiting for news?  I was just going to have to figure this one out on my own.  I can tell you that I made a LOT of mistakes while she was away, some of which she may still have yet to discover, so let's hope she likes surprises, but without her there to tell me step-by-step how to do things, I figured a lot of it out on my own, and I think I'll remember it much better because I did it on my own.  For me, the best way to learn, really is to just jump in and do it.

I used to hate making mistakes, come to think of it, I don't know anyone who gets handed a write-up at work or a term paper full of red marks, that joyfully grabs it, clutches it to their chest, and and thinks, hooray, I f---ked up big time!, but I was so embarrassed by my inadequacies and so afraid of failure that if I couldn't be instantly good at something, I wouldn't do it at all.  As you can imagine, having a mindset like that made life pretty boring, because as it turns out, I have never been instantly good at anything and I spent a lot of time not doing anything or trying anything.

As I have gotten older, I've learned to take my inadequacies in stride, because everyone has them, and to see my failures as opportunities to either improve or to just not take myself so seriously.  I have learned that I don't have to be good at something to enjoy it.  If you don't believe that you should hear me singing in the car each morning.  I mean, wow, is it awful in a Notes? What Notes? kind of way, but I enjoy every second of it.

If and when I fall, it only makes me a little smarter and a little tougher.  As much as I love a good crutch to lean on, I never gain any confidence that way.  Instead, while it does keep me safe, it also holds me back from doing my best and being my best and I'd like to think my dad knew that.