"What do you want for your birthday?"
I knew the most frequent answers by heart: presents, fruit snacks, marshmallows, and of course a bike. I will never forget the way her eyes lit up when Jon wheeled it through the gate. Her hands flew to her mouth opened wide in surprise. Her energy quivered with excitement. She was bursting at the seams to climb on the white seat and grab the handlebar.
It took a bit of practice to synchronize the motion of pedaling with maneuvering the handlebar, and become accustomed to the sensation of rolling forward and gaining momentum. There was a fair share of "I can't" followed up by the encouraging "Of course you can, with a little practice you will be a pro in no time." She quickly got the hang of it, gaining confidence and speed simultaneously, radiating joy and pride.
Up and down the sidewalk, to the fence and back, circling around on the concrete pad to complete another lap and careen back down the walk once more, she sped along with pedals spinning and training wheels rattling. Then it happened, she turned her loop a hair too tightly, pedaling a little too quickly, and the bike toppled sending my girl clumsily to the concrete. Thankfully bones weren't broken and knees weren't skinned, but confidence was splintered into jagged little shards and left scattered alongside the wreckage.
The next day when we went out to play, she walked alongside her bike, wheeling it around on foot.
"Aren't you going to ride your bike?"
"I am"
"I mean get on it and pedal, not just push it around."
"No, it will fall over"
"If you ride carefully and practice I don't think it will fall again"
"Yes it will."
(and then came the shameless manipulation)
"Well then if you don't want to ride it, I bet Berkley would. Can she have your bike?"
"Yep. Berks can have it"
"And if it's Berkley's bike now then the bike helmet has to be hers too so she can protect her head, right?"
"Well...OK, it can be her helmet too."
(manipulation::fail) And there shattered my heart, strewn among her broken splinters of confidence.
I desperately wanted to encourage her back onto that bike, to see her grin strung from ear to ear the way it had been the day before. I wanted reassure her she would never fall again, never tip over, never get hurt, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't promise that, moreover I didn't want to impress upon her the notion that it's better to avoid adventures that might cause pain and stick only with experiences that are safe. Many of the richest aspects of life include quite a bit of risk and vulnerability, some of the most rewarding experiences, in fact, guarantee to deliver pain. Falling in love, starting a business, following a passion, getting married, birthing and raising children, making friends and cultivating relationships. None are without risk. None are painless. The more you try to avoid pain, the more you eradicate the potential for joy, you can't have one without the other. In the words of Brene Brown, "Our capacity for joy is only as great as our willingness to feel pain and sadness."
I think the silver lining is that the scrapes, and aches, and contractions, and bruises to bodies and spirits fade and soften with the passing of time. Otherwise babies would never learn to walk, no one would get remarried, or have more than one child, or get back in the game on horse or on a little blue bike with pink training wheels. Eventually our craving for the pleasure of life coaxes us past our fears and reservations.
My girl came around slowly, on her own time, and eventually climbed back onto her bike. We started from the beginning with my hands steadying her back as she pedaled ever so slowly. Little by little I let go, gave her space, set her free. She would catch my gaze and call out "I'm being BRRRAVE!". If only my little darling had any idea how my heart swelled to hear that. She got back into her rhythm of looping and circling, and even took another small spill, but this time she clambered back onto the seat and cautiously picked up where she left off. The breeze swept thin wisps of sandy hair off her face and her eyes twinkled as she again forgot the pain of meeting the pavement and embraced the possibility of taking flight.
I knew the most frequent answers by heart: presents, fruit snacks, marshmallows, and of course a bike. I will never forget the way her eyes lit up when Jon wheeled it through the gate. Her hands flew to her mouth opened wide in surprise. Her energy quivered with excitement. She was bursting at the seams to climb on the white seat and grab the handlebar.
It took a bit of practice to synchronize the motion of pedaling with maneuvering the handlebar, and become accustomed to the sensation of rolling forward and gaining momentum. There was a fair share of "I can't" followed up by the encouraging "Of course you can, with a little practice you will be a pro in no time." She quickly got the hang of it, gaining confidence and speed simultaneously, radiating joy and pride.
Up and down the sidewalk, to the fence and back, circling around on the concrete pad to complete another lap and careen back down the walk once more, she sped along with pedals spinning and training wheels rattling. Then it happened, she turned her loop a hair too tightly, pedaling a little too quickly, and the bike toppled sending my girl clumsily to the concrete. Thankfully bones weren't broken and knees weren't skinned, but confidence was splintered into jagged little shards and left scattered alongside the wreckage.
The next day when we went out to play, she walked alongside her bike, wheeling it around on foot.
"Aren't you going to ride your bike?"
"I am"
"I mean get on it and pedal, not just push it around."
"No, it will fall over"
"If you ride carefully and practice I don't think it will fall again"
"Yes it will."
(and then came the shameless manipulation)
"Well then if you don't want to ride it, I bet Berkley would. Can she have your bike?"
"Yep. Berks can have it"
"And if it's Berkley's bike now then the bike helmet has to be hers too so she can protect her head, right?"
"Well...OK, it can be her helmet too."
(manipulation::fail) And there shattered my heart, strewn among her broken splinters of confidence.
I desperately wanted to encourage her back onto that bike, to see her grin strung from ear to ear the way it had been the day before. I wanted reassure her she would never fall again, never tip over, never get hurt, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't promise that, moreover I didn't want to impress upon her the notion that it's better to avoid adventures that might cause pain and stick only with experiences that are safe. Many of the richest aspects of life include quite a bit of risk and vulnerability, some of the most rewarding experiences, in fact, guarantee to deliver pain. Falling in love, starting a business, following a passion, getting married, birthing and raising children, making friends and cultivating relationships. None are without risk. None are painless. The more you try to avoid pain, the more you eradicate the potential for joy, you can't have one without the other. In the words of Brene Brown, "Our capacity for joy is only as great as our willingness to feel pain and sadness."
I think the silver lining is that the scrapes, and aches, and contractions, and bruises to bodies and spirits fade and soften with the passing of time. Otherwise babies would never learn to walk, no one would get remarried, or have more than one child, or get back in the game on horse or on a little blue bike with pink training wheels. Eventually our craving for the pleasure of life coaxes us past our fears and reservations.
My girl came around slowly, on her own time, and eventually climbed back onto her bike. We started from the beginning with my hands steadying her back as she pedaled ever so slowly. Little by little I let go, gave her space, set her free. She would catch my gaze and call out "I'm being BRRRAVE!". If only my little darling had any idea how my heart swelled to hear that. She got back into her rhythm of looping and circling, and even took another small spill, but this time she clambered back onto the seat and cautiously picked up where she left off. The breeze swept thin wisps of sandy hair off her face and her eyes twinkled as she again forgot the pain of meeting the pavement and embraced the possibility of taking flight.