Falling is Learning...

Maggie is leaning to ride her bike these days. Yesterday was a major breakthrough. With a slight push, she would begin pedaling all alone and cruising down the street. Cruising might be a generous term. She was pedaling down the street but her line-making efficiency would fail most engineering tests.

We took our first family bike ride after three or four tests of ability. We rode through our neighborhood side-by-side on our five bikes. Micah and Madeline were cheering for their little sister, and Lindsay and I were rejoicing that from here on our three kids wouldn’t be left behind by friends for inability to ride a bike.

We turned the corner a few blocks away, and Maggie joyfully screamed, “I’m doing it. I'm doing it!” Shortly after her exclamation, she wobbled left and right and ran helmet first into a set of mailboxes. Her bike crashed, we gasped, and we panicked. In this moment of fear where for a flash I imagined she would never get up and forever refuse to ride her bike, I yelled from 30 feet back, “Falling is learning.” Sometimes fear is a friend of cliche.

She called back, “ Picking up is learning, too!” She stepped back from the mailbox and began to pick her bike from the ground.

Madeline was hoping I would
include a photo if I was
going to mention her story.

I was amazed. Having just visited the ER with Madeline a week ago, I was certain Maggie would need stiches across her forhead. Instead of blood and trauma, our tiniest and youngest and (self-appointed) funniest child responded with wisdom. 

She recovered and a few blocks later fell again. I heard her say, “Falling is learning.” And up she went again.

Yesterday afternoon we ended up at a lake celebrating a friend's PhD. His in-laws had a boat, and I was invited to “surf” behind the boat. I haven’t surfed in years, so I was nervous to attempt such adventure in front of strangers, but at least two of my kids were there to support me.

I was centering the board between my legs and preparing for the V8 engine to rev and pull my beyond-200-pound body to the surface. I quickly got up and began moving into the surf. I knew enough to lean forward but had plenty of hesitation that the board would merge with my face should I lean too far forward. 

I finally took a deep breath and leaned in. Somewhere between my exhale and blinking, the boat was upside down in my vision and my legs were the last part of me entering the water. The boat swung a big circle and returned to retrieve me. The girls were clapping in support, and then I heard Maggie say, “Falling is learning.”

It is less than three weeks that I will begin walking the Camino de Santiago. Each day will require somewhere between 13 and 20 miles of walking. I’ve met enough pilgrims to know that my feet will swell, tire, and bleed. My back will tighten. My knees, hips, and shoulders will scream, “Stop!” Every pilgrim says, “listen to your body, it will tell you when to keep going, when to go slow, and when to take a rest.”

Meseta, Camino de Santiago

I know that I will begin by walking too fast and somewhere between 4-6 days into the walk, my feet will befall me and my body bewail me. When I begin to walk the meseta, the infamous “Table Mountain”, I will not want to continue. It’s these moments when I desire for my yesterday-Maggie to come to mind. I am on a journey to learn to walk. I will fall, literally. But my body will want to quit and my mind will not want to go for another mile or to another town. 

“Falling is learning, and picking up is learning, too.”