Taking Stock

The holidays are over.  I’ve packed away the lights, tree ornaments and greeting cards.  The holiday cookies, cakes, and pies have all been eaten or given away, and I am pretty much heeding my resolution to eat mostly healthy food.

Last week, as is my habit in the week after New Year’s, I  cleaned my garage, de-cluttered my office, and filed receipts into all the needed categories for income tax prep.  I sent my annual support checks to a shortlist of worthy organizations, and renewed my commitment to volunteer time in my local community.

But this year I want to do more.  I need some kind of a challenge, or goal.  Something to strive for, to look forward to, and to feel good about when I’ve accomplished it.

Life is Short – Don’t waste it

2015 was a challenging year for our family.  By the time we got through the holidays, I was feeling very mortal. As I reflected on the past year, I computed all the years that were now behind me (lots) and estimated the years ahead (much fewer).  Suddenly I  realized I want those years to count.

Most of the time I feel good about how I use my time since I retired.  I spend more time with my family; more time reading; walking in nature; puttering in my garden.  I have developed a very special relationship with my first grandchild, and I work for social justice in my community.

But I need some bling in my life.  Something that stands out as The Achievement of 2016.

My daughter, who writes the Nurtured Mama blog, reminded me recently that Eleanor Roosevelt advised us all to “Do one thing every day that scares you.”

I decided right then that I need to do something that scares me.  Not necessarily every day, but at least once.

How to Do Something that Scares You

There was no question in my mind what it would be.  In my garage stood a bicycle that had been left behind when my kids left for college.  I had always intended to ride it, but never had.

Two years ago my son rented a bike for me during one of my visits to San Diego.  He suggested a ride in Balboa Park as a Mother’s Day outing.  Instead, he spent what must have been a very tedious morning  trying to get me to pick up my feet and ride the darned thing.  I was so afraid of falling that I couldn’t get past the fear and analyze what I needed to do to keep from doing so.  He was incredibly patient.  Just as I had done for him 30 years earlier, he held the saddle and pushed me forward, encouraging me to put my feet on the pedals and go.

I did eventually get the hang of it, but every time I stopped at a street crossing or an architectural barrier, I went through the whole fear cycle again.

All thoughts of riding the bike in the garage had disappeared by the time I got home.  It was simply too scary.

But I wasn’t accounting for the persuasive ability of my granddaughter.  She received a bicycle for her fourth birthday, a little bit early developmentally, but she had pleaded with her parents to buy it.  Over the next several months she rode her scooter up and down our block and talked longingly about when she would be tall enough to ride her new bike.

“We can ride together, Grandma.”

“But I don’t have a helmet.”

“I’ll go with you to help pick one out.”

“But I haven’t ridden a bike for a very long time.  I’m not sure I know how.”

“I don’t know how either, Grandma.  We can learn together.”

Prepare for the Encounter

Over the spring and summer I knew I was missing great cycling weather.  But the bike  just collected dust and soon became hidden behind boxes and bags of clothing destined for Goodwill.

One day after Bean had cheerfully reminded me once again to buy a bike helmet, I looked up Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote in context. It came from her 1960 book You Learn By Living: Eleven Keys for a More Fullfilling Life.  I read her words over and over, then typed them and pasted them over my keyboard. A particularly moving passage was this call to action:

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face… The danger lies in refusing to face the fear, in not daring to come to grips with it… You must make yourself succeed every time. You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

Assess the Risk

I started going into the garage and looking at the bike. It wasn’t so big.  Surely I could fall off and not be badly hurt.  Moving the boxes out of the way one day, I sat on it and discovered I couldn’t reach the ground with my feet.  I found the latch that freed the saddle, and pushed it to its lowest position.  I sat on it again.  That was better.  I imagined riding along the coast, the wind in my face.

Still, I was frightened that my bones were too brittle, my joints too stiff, my reflexes too slow.  Could someone as old as me even learn to ride a bike?   I went to the internet. I read about facing fear, and I watched videos about adults learning how to ride a bike.  Other people had done this.  Surely I could do it too.

Get Some Help

The next time I passed the bike shop, I confessed my fears and asked for help.  They told me about a class for new bike riders that was starting in a week, and they sold me a helmet.

Last weekend I took the family bike rack off the wall and attempted to put it on the back of my car.  Failing miserably, I drove back to the bike shop.  They showed me how to put it on, and reminded me about the class.  The first time I tried to lift my bike onto the rack I couldn’t do it, but I tried again the next morning when I was fresh, and took the bike to the shop for a tune up.  Just two more days to go.

That night I dreamed about falling off the bike.  I woke up worried that I wouldn’t be able to lift my feet onto the pedals, that I wouldn’t find my balance, that I would make a fool of myself.  This morning I told a friend during exercise class.  “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.  I must be crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” she replied.  “Riding a bike is great fun. Why don’t we meet at Lighthouse Field this afternoon and I’ll help you get started.”

Look Fear in the Face

To be continued . . .

 

Readers:  What have you done that scared you?  How did you feel afterward? Please share your experience below.

I love comments — you may add yours by using the form at the bottom of this post.  (You can also subscribe to my weekly commentary by filling in the blanks at the top of the post.)  See you next week.

 

 

 

Share this post