Falling Down

When I learned to ride my little motorcycle I was in a class with a bunch of guys… and one lady. I felt a bit intimidated, so I can’t imagine how the young woman felt.

We got up early on a Saturday morning, went to the “riding range” (think parking lot) and all selected a helmet and a bike. The leaders gave us some instruction and we slowly but surely began to ride.

Then it happened. At a moment when everyone was stopped in a line, her hand slipped of the clutch, her bike lurched forward and she hit the guy in front of her.

Because you can sue anyone for anything in this country, the class was stopped, the bikes turned off and forms filled out and signed, right in the middle of the parking lot while God and everyone watched.

She never came back to class.

I hurt for her and what she’s missed out on because she was too embarrassed to return. And I wonder how often I've done the same thing.

Failure is a part of life. Everyone who has ever walked has fallen. Everyone. For some reason, as we age, we quit looking at the accomplishments of the steps we've taken and instead dwell on the pain of the fall.

I get it. Falling hurts. And everyone wants protection from pain. But if we never try again, we end up crawling through life. Never developing. Never maturing. Never growing.

I hope she found the courage to go back to class. I hope she's out there riding right now. And I hope I always have the courage to try new things. To fail. And to try again.