Trusting, Training Wheels, and the Art of Letting Go

“I’m right here,” she said. “I’ve got you. And I won’t let you fall.”

And I believed her. Every. Single. Word.

Yet, when I turned my head, she wasn’t right there. She had let go. And I did fall.

I was five. My knees were scraped. And my tiny yellow Schwinn was lying on the asphalt next to me – wondering, as I was, what had just happened.

The day your training wheels come off can be disillusioning, can’t it?

Training wheels keep you on track, headed forward, stable.

Removed, the bike feels wobbly and unbalanced. New dimensions introduced.

In their absence, I’d leaned on my mom to keep me upright.

Yet, when I looked back and she was standing where we’d started and was yelling, “turn around, turn around, keep pedaling, keep pedaling,” I panicked—losing my balance, crashing.

What a hard gift she gave that little version of me.

To let go.
To allow me to find my own balance.
And, perhaps hardest, to know I would fall. Again and again.

Learning to trust your self, to find your center, isn’t easy, is it?

On the bike. In life.

And yet, discovering how far you can lean in before you fall is everything.

Understanding that falling isn’t failing, it’s a sign you’re finding balance is everything.

Knowing that every time you get up, every time you keep pedaling forward, you are telling yourself:

“I’m right here.
“I’ve got you.”
“I won’t let you go.”

This. Is. Everything.

Where in your life can you express gratitude for the training wheels that have kept you upright?

Where in your life can you also lean in a little bit further, perhaps trusting that you’re ready to remove the training wheels, as you continue finding a balance that is uniquely your own?

Mobile: An XL version of The Classic in @molotowheadquarters Melon Yellow with a pop of Tulip Middle Blue