Riding Without Hands

Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 1

I was a late bloomer in a lot of ways. I’m thankful for blooming on this timetable… now.

As a pre-teen and teen, I watched those around me walk through the world with a confidence I couldn’t even fathom.

That longing, to be as good, as sure, as effortlessly capable, leaked into almost every part of my life.

Like learning to ride a bicycle.

I’ve blocked out the exact age I finally learned, but to this day, I’m still teased about how late it was, and how I ran straight into one of the two trees in the front yard of my childhood home.

There was always this sense that everyone was just a step ahead of me, and I was scrambling to catch up, often before I was ready.

Maybe that’s the curse of being a twin. I never wanted to be outdone or left behind.

Those fears lingered into adulthood… quiet and persistent.

Riding a bike may very well be the metaphor for this challenge.

I remember riding my bike through the neighborhood with my friends. They’d be cruising with no hands. Drinking milkshakes, eating sandwiches, and guiding their bikes effortlessly with only their legs.

Me?

The moment I let go of the handlebars, my bike would veer dangerously off-course, leaving me scrambling to recover before tipping over.

But this is me we’re talking about, and I wanted to keep up. Maybe even be good at something.

So I did what any logical preteen would do.

I decided the problem wasn’t me. It was momentum. I just needed more of it.

So I picked one of the steepest hills in our neighborhood and aimed my bike straight down.

I’ve revisited those streets as an adult, and I’m still shocked I ever rode them, let alone tried to let go of the handlebars mid-descent.

But that’s exactly what I did.

The wind whipped through my hair. I leaned into the slope. And I let go.

That’s the last thing I remember.

I woke up at the bottom of the hill bruised, bloody, and not-so-mildly concussed.

Maybe this is just what it means to be human, thinking we can outrun the discomfort, barrel down hills we’re not ready for, and grit our way into grace.

But momentum without balance isn’t confidence. It’s chaos in disguise. And sometimes, it knocks you out cold.

I used to think blooming late meant I’d missed something.

But what I was really missing was the understanding that readiness isn’t a race. Trying to force mastery before you’re grounded isn’t bravery.

It’s panic in motion.

Now, I honor the slow build. The awkward starts. The hands gripping the handlebars.

Because I know what it feels like to be steady, only because I spent so long learning what it means to be unsteady.

Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤️