Love is Like Riding a Bike

Falling in love is like riding a bike.
No, seriously.
You do it once, and you simply never forget how it went.
Motor memory.
Engrained.
You get on your bike, you pedal, and you propel forward.
Predictable.
Easy.

Until it’s not.

As predictable as motor memory may be, it’s as fragile as the rest of us.
Those neural pathways can be disrupted.
They can break.
Our ability to love can break, too.

Sometimes we go so long on our own that we no longer remember quite what it’s like to put ourselves out there, to open up to another person and expose that vulnerability we so desperately shield.

Sometimes we simply stop seeking those needs from others.
Those needs of love, comfort, and loyalty.
Sometimes we decide we do not need them at all.

Eventually though, we realize we’re wrong.

Eventually, we realize we’ve dug ourselves into a bit of a rut.
How do I do this again?
Do I even want to do this again?
I don’t recall it going great the first few times around.

So we try.
Awkwardly, cautiously, and anything but whole-heartedly.
And we fail.
Face-plant.
Back out.

But we grow, too.

The thing with learning how to love again is that it’s a continuous process.
Did you learn how to ride a bike on your very first try?
Probably not.
You probably started with training wheels; cautious and afraid.
Eventually you made the transition and the commitment to two-wheels.
And you fell.
Over and over and over.
You scraped your knees, you scraped your elbows, and you were undoubtedly tempted to give up.

But then you got behind those handlebars one day and you pedaled and pedaled…
You just kept going.
We decide we want to get back out there, or at least stop loathing the idea of dating again.

So we begin with our little training wheels fastened securely to our heart.
We grow in time, with patience, and with practice.
We hurt a few people in the process.
And we hurt ourselves, too.

There’s no saying you’ll ever ride that bike again.
Maybe you don’t want to.
Maybe it’s not time.
Maybe it’s just not in the cards for you no matter how many attempts you give it.

But you try.

They say everything comes with practice.
I don’t know whether or not I believe them, but I do believe that practice creates growth.
It pushes our boundaries and it strengthens our spirit.
You don’t need to learn how to ride a bike.
You don’t need to try to love, to date, to put yourself out there.
There are no requirements in this life.
Simply opportunities.

But don’t let the fear of falling prevent you from taking that first pedal.
We’re all a little broken.
We’re all a little rusty.
We’re all a little scared if we’re being perfectly honest with ourselves.

But we’re all a little human..

Love doesn’t always fall into place.
It doesn’t always work itself out.
Sometimes we have to work towards it.
Baby steps.
Training wheels.
Broadening our own acceptance of love while working to emit it ourselves.

Live isn’t a fairytale.
Life is a six-year-old on a bike making twelve mistakes before finally getting it right.