Just like riding a bike?

You know when people say, "It's just like riding a bike?"

What is meant by this, I'm given to understand, is that once you know how to ride, you never NOT know how to ride again. The metaphor is about the kind of thing that once learned never leaves you - it stays in your neural pathways, muscle memory, etc.

There are things that fall into this category for me. I can make the base of a soup in my sleep, and driving is something I do outside of conscious thought. It comes to me reactively and kinisthetically, though of course it wasn't always this way. I also suspect that I will never not be able to swim - it is so central to who I am and I've been doing it for nearly 33 years.

Here's the thing about making soup, swimming, and driving though: they all have in common that they do not require balancing on two wheels, while propelling yourself down a road with other traffic, in the open air.

This is to say . . . that metaphor about riding a bike? It only works for those of us who LEARNED to ride a bike. Apparently, riding a tricycle at age 4 doesn't count. So, yes, I never learned. There was a brief moment where I rode a friend's bike, and there was a pink Schwinn in the garage that I rode down the street ONCE, but I almost instantly crashed it and then when trying to "get back up on the horse" I immediately almost ran into a moving car so . . . that was the end of that.

At a certain point, though, I just feel silly living in Boulder, practically bike-central of the universe (life on Mars notwithstanding. We have no idea what Curiosity will find after all), and the only man, woman, or child (kids here start biking by like 2 and 3 years old. I'm not being hyperbolic) not bike-ready. I imagine this is what my brave and gloriously beautiful friend felt like when she was thinking about learning to swim. It's daunting to think about making yourself do something you don't trust you can do, but at the same time, not being able to do it ends up meaning you have fewer options and are sometimes left out or find yourself self-excluding from things.

There is a club I'm left out of here: people commute, recreate, and just generally socialize and hang out on bikes. All. The. Time.

I just did my fourth year volunteering with Venus de Miles, an all women's ride. Every year I think, "That lady just rode SIXTY-SEVEN MILES. And I don't even know how to ride across this parking lot. "

Can't is a hard word.

It's all well and good for me to know who and what I am and what I like. I like swimming. I love reading and writing and music. I prefer chai to coffee. I could eat sushi and Indian every day of the week but meat with bones is a tricky proposition for me. I adore the soothing feeling of cooking and handling food. I like entertainment that makes me think or that is so lushly, over-the-top artistic that it engages that side of my brain. But knowing this doesn't stop me from watching Will Ferrel and Zach Galifianakis clobber each other in The Campaign, or going out to eat instead of cooking, or learning photography rather than capturing the world in words.

There are things that my circumstances and life prevent me from doing. I will likely not sprout wings and learn to fly. I can't get pregnant and grow people from scratch. I can't decide when I will get a job. I can't be as tall as the rest of my family. I CAN eat dried apricots, but I can't do so and hope to not suffer the allergic reaction to the preservatives. But signing on the dotted line for more things I can't do feels like putting up fences and walls in my life.

Even if they're there for good reasons, don't fences dare you to see what's on the other side?

It was on this theory that I capriciously joined a martial arts school 12 years ago and earned my black belt 6 years later. Do I have natural talent for karate? Absolutely not. But, after taking two classes for free, the idea that I would walk away from a good workout, a chance to be social, the opportunity to push myself, and a valuable life skill (discipline, character building, determination, and the ability to defend myself? Yes, please.) just because it was new/scary/hard seemed ridiculous. I had seen over the fence and needed to make the climb to get to the other side.

I was fortunate to have been pushed a lot as a younger child. I learned to read music and play an instrument (thought, not well). I was swimming on my own by age 3 and I was reading chapter books on my own very early. All that independence is a blessing and curse as an adult. I have decades of doing a very long list of things BY MYSELF. Musings on how well that has prepared me to accept help and support aside (ahem. Let's be clear: I stink at accepting help and support) there are other issues with all of this competence and independence. Bad news: I have years upon years of walking this earth never really knowing the feeling of being out of my depth; so, it's easy to think I should just keep going on the track of do-things-you-are-good-at. Good news: I know enough about adult learning to have considered in my career of training other people that adults need to be uncomfortable to learn. I once said to someone who asked me if I preferred teaching little, little ones vs. college students vs. adults, "with young kids you must always consider that you are not just working with them, but also their parents. So that is adult learning. And with adult learning you are always overcoming objections whether it's parents or formal training environments. " This is to say, I know enough to at least try and recognize my own objections and tackle them.

I don't want them to weigh me down as I try to push past the fences, so as much as it's easy and comfortable for me to walk around keeping to the things I'm already good and competent at, I know that I was as scared as everyone is when I had my first swimming lesson at age 2. And I know I felt WAY over my head when I took my first (and second and third and fourth . . . ) karate class, I was so scared to leave the The Happy Valley and a place where I knew everyone and everyone knew me when I went to grad school. But . . . what if I had let those become limitations to doing those things? If I had never let go of the wall in that first swimming pool, I would have to erase all of the miles I have pulled out of the water and all of the days where it was the place I felt the most peace and quiet and the irreplaceable feeling of being held up by something bigger than me. If I had never taken that karate class, if I had never gone back for another, not only would I have continued to be afraid and certain that if someone wanted to hurt me, I would just have to accept that it was going to happen. Not only would I have not found out the beautiful things my body can do (with more coaxing than most, to be sure, but it can do those things despite the complete dearth of grace in my limbs), but I would have missed out on the chance to turn my Jersey home into a place where, indeed, everyone knew me and I knew everyone. I would never have found my "Jewish Family." If I had never left Amherst and gone to grad school, I would have missed out on so many important people and thoughts and experiences and BEER, and I might have been lead to some other place in the world aside from my now-beloved Colorado.

I have said many times that as much as the level of responsibility and accountability I was required to take on probably too early in life has been difficult, it also means I really left home and embarked on a pattern of turning my new places and people into new homes and new families. This means I hav so many amazing loved ones that I share no blood with. I sometimes wish my early life was easier, but if that meant I had to somehow cosmically GIVE BACK those people I wouldn't do it.

This is the same - if erasing the scary and hard learning moments in my life meant I also had to give back the sense of accomplishment in getting my black belt, if it meant I had to not be a born-and-bread swimmer, if it meant I hadn't come to Colorado, well, I wouldn't do it.

The universe has been sending me messages lately, and so I have decided to listen. I was connected to a bike shop for awhile, and had many conversations with the mechanics there about bikes and how to learn to ride. My person became increasingly enthusiastic about biking and embarked on purchasing an upgraded bike and I found myself visiting many bike shops in this town as he looked at his options and seeing a couple of bikes that looked almost Christie-sized. And my friend, who once believed she couldn't swim and then set about to prove herself wrong said, "If you ever want to learn how to ride, you know where I am."

Riiiing, ring. Clue phone for you, Christie-bell. Time to BIKE.

I once ignored three messages from the universe. In the same day I saw the worst car accident I have ever seen. I mean, the car didn't even look like a car and there was visible human carnage. Then my locks froze not allowing me to get into my car. And finally, I was routed around the entrance to the highway I normally used when driving from Connecticut to Jersey. That night I was in a hit and run accident, in a blizzard, waited over an hour for anyone to help me, car totaled, and my neck and ankle were broken. I'm not in the habit of ignoring overwhelming messages from the universe anymore. So, when the universe kept on serving up BIKE to me, I got the message and accepted some help and support in getting it and learning to ride it.

As soon as the decision was made, but before the bike had been located and purchased I told my friend of the learning-to-swim fame and she said, "I knew it! I was just thinking how last year was year-of-the-hike for me, and how this year was year-of-the-bike. And so, if this year is year-of-the-hike for you, then next year will be biking for you!" Smile.

The real story here is, she LEFT her job and in the interim, as she was job hunting, she hiked all over Boulder County and now knows every trail. The trails and mountains are part of her story in re-centering her life around a healthier and happier job and work-life balance. She remembers trails not just as sights she saw, but feelings and prayers that she processed while out on them.

Not because I was intending to emulate her (although, if I wanted a role-model in physical and mental health, I could scarcely pick a better one), but because I was walking a dog in March and it suddenly got very temperate and mild this spring, the gym stopped calling to me, and the idea of, "I could use hiking as my cardio and be outside, thinking, seeing more of this gorgeous place I lived in," took root.

As I have hiked my way through the spring and summer (excepting almost all of July when it was too hot to bear. I now think of trails as particular thoughts and feelings I was trying to sort out too. And part of what has come to me is that this whole thing of not finding a job right away, needing to define my worth in ways beyond a paycheck and job title, getting very healthy and confident on the inside without leaning on traditional definitions of success, rooting out judgement and self-deprecation,and having to really be clear about what will and won't be good for me in terms of a job is "just like riding a bike." 
The metaphor for me isn't about learning something once and then never forgetting it, but about taking on the task of learning something even though and BECAUSE it is hard and scary but will lead to a lot more happiness and a lot fewer limitations. I need to learn to be ok with me, regardless of being ensconced in a career. Clinging to my paycheck and job title has gotten me into trouble in the past and created unhealthy expectations and balance, or a complete lack thereof. (Working over 80 hours a week seems so far away now, but man, I did that. Ugh.) When we get into the habit of putting wails around what we can and can't do, it becomes routine to not consider that there are other options. When I first mentioned to my friend that I could teach her to swim her instantaneous reactions was, "No." (I suspect what was in her head was actually closer to, "No friggin way am I getting in the scary-ass water only to nearly drown AND look foolish. Ahhhh!") But a couple of months later she was in the pool and making it from one wall to the other. There's always the option to look at something that is challenging and frightening and say, "I haven't learned to do that YET." My friends who are as enamored with The West Wing as I am will know this quote:

Dolores Landingham: You don't know how to use the intercom. 
President Josiah Bartlet: It's not that I don't know how to use it. It's just that I haven't learned yet. 



Even non-West Wingers will appreciate this clip. We could all stand to look at the things we don't do, haven't learned, or are unaccustomed to as things we COULD do if we had a chance to "get to it," - me most of all, as I tend to get stuck in my ways. I have nothing but space and opportunity to unstick and  get around to things now. I can learn to use the intercom, and to be alright with me with or without the job I want. And the story that I have to tell about this year isn't,"I looked for a job for X months and didn't find one," but rather, "Here's how I used this time to my advantage."

• I hiked all over Boulder and beyond
• I have consulted with two small businesses
• I have networked with the the Boulder Chamber, and several other local businesses
• I home-schooled a student to prepare him for 5th grade
• I have been able to be the kind of friend I want to be
• I cooked healthy food every week
• I swam many miles
• I started taking guitar lessons
• I volunteered extensively for the worthiest cause I can think of
• I learned how to ride a bike

And perhaps the most important thing is that, in doing all of these things, I now have a vision in my head of what I want for my work, my relationship, and my life in the future. (You know, creativity, spirituality, family, health,  opportunities, my values of contributing to the greater good and giving back, all those things.) And I believe I deserve it now.

I got on that bike about 2 hours after it was purchased. Yes, I rode on the grass. And yes, it was scary. But scary has a way of waking us up and I was thrilled by it. I ended up riding it a block home, rather than putting it back in my person's car. Wobbly, not very fast, and still struggling with steering. The next morning, first thing, 6am, back up on the bike to practice stopping and turning (which all really fall under the header of balance).

So, last night, after some conversation where I expressed that I want learning to ride to be hard enough to be interesting but not so over my head that I feel like I can't amass any successes at all, we rode a short trail. It. WAS. AWESOME.

It's wee but Christie-sized

(this is JUST after my first "real ride.")


To be clear, I am not awesome (YET) but for my second day of riding, to be out on a real trail, turning, trying to power through hills and soft sand (not my most successful moments, let me tell you) and steering fast through some curves and downhills, WOW. What have I been missing all these years?

So, just like learning to ride a bike, it's important to appreciate, as John Mayer sings, that "fear is a friend that you misunderstood." My therapist once said that when I'm feeling distressed, upset, anxious, triggered it is worth noting that it is almost always because growth and positive change are upon me. Those moments are my opportunity to live up to my value of being a life-long learner and to push myself to take down the walls and see a new view. And let me tell you, the view of things going by from a bike is pretty sweet.