Little Fish Reaching for Stars

One of my dad’s favorite sayings is “Hire a teenager while they still know everything.” Because at 18, you do think you know everything, and you think you can do anything, too. There is a sense of promise. Promise of high-powered careers and budding romances, white-picket fences and a full and happy heart. Promise that you – yes, YOU – have what it takes to make it big out in the world.

It’s interesting how quickly we go from a know-it-all teen to a wide-eyed 20-something. Suddenly, we’ve gone from seeing the world as our oyster to feeling like a little fish in a big pond.

Most of us have experienced those moments. The ones where we stop and ponder just exactly how little we know and how much we used to think we did. Those who were the smart kids in high school begin to realize there’s always someone smarter. The popular kids figure out there’s always someone cooler. And hopefully, they also realize that instead of comparing themselves, they should learn from one another. And figure out where they fit best among themselves.

Because surrounding oneself with friends who spur one another on really is the best way to learn as much as you can. Having friends who are smarter than you or funnier than you, but who also give off a sense of inclusivity can bridge the gap between naive teenager and functioning adult. And to eventually help you find that balance between clueless ignorance and mindful curiosity.

It's these voices that follow us as we make life decisions. We consult our trusted loved ones. We trust that, collectively, their knowledge and insight is often more than our own. We build ourselves pillars in the form of the funny strong, smart, funny, cool, athletic or big-dreaming humans we choose as friends.

The catch is they're humans.

It’s because I don’t know everything that I look to my friends around me. Friends who bring something to the table I do not. We look to each other for knowledge, advice, perspective. Yet, as I learn and explore and try new things in an effort to broaden my horizons, face my fears and live a full life, I’ve found that most people respond with either encouragement or warnings. Where is the line between unwavering support and cautionary concern?

For example, when I told one friend I was getting a bike, he responded with concern. “Whoa, you sure that’s a good idea? You’re not exactly the most coordinated human being.” He had basically given a voice to the concerns in my head (and in my blog post). It wasn’t discouraging, but it might have been had he not been the friend who had rescued me after I’d hit another car on a one-way street only to have my battery die after we’d filed the police report. His concerns were fair.

And then I told another friend about the bike, and the response was, “Awesome! Let’s go on a ride together!”

I’m not sure which was the best response, but I’m pretty sure I needed both, the balance of it all. I needed someone to express concern, and I needed someone else to tell me I should go for it, to tell me to put my pedal to the metal, if you will.

So as I climbed atop my new bike for the first time, I carried both attitudes with me. I had one friend’s voice in my head saying “Be very, very careful.” And I had the other friend’s voice saying “Go for it! Fly like the wind!”

I did both. I was careful. I flew like the wind, and I made it back to my apartment sans injury. My hope is when I tell them I want to do something a little more bold than riding a bike, I'll get the same balance of support.

Because I don’t know everything, which is why I have friends. Because they know me. And collectively, we all know a lot more. And though we’re not teens any longer, perhaps with all our collective knowledge, we can successfully reach for the stars.

Bikes and Driving

I’ve never been in a biking accident. I know, I know, with all the stories I have to tell about crazy (but pathetic) injuries, you’d think I’d have fallen down a hill only to have my bike land on top of me, right?

No, I’ve not had any real problems with bikes except that I couldn’t keep up with everyone because I was too chubby. A few months ago, I was driving around my neighborhood and I saw a group of young boys biking about. About a block behind them was their chubby friend. They’d stop and wait for him occasionally, but his face sure was bright red. I’m not sure whether it was from exhaustion or embarrassment, but I’m willing to bet both. I could relate.

I’ve actually come to love biking. But only in calm, quiet areas where there aren’t cars or any other real danger, for that matter. Recently when I went to my quiet hometown to spend some time with my family, I arrived just in time for a group bike ride. Because I’d just pulled into the drive about 3 minutes earlier, I decided I’d take my little dog along for the ride. He’d been cooped up in the car for hours, and I didn’t want to just shove him into the house.

I took him on a test run first. I plopped him into the front basket and biked past about three houses. And I decided I didn’t quite feel comfortable with him in there, because he could jump out.

Turned out, he couldn’t have possibly jumped out.

His poor nails were jammed so tightly into the mesh basket that he couldn’t move at all. I couldn’t move him either, and the more I tried to gently pull him out, the more he bled. ALL over the place. Finally, my dad helped shove his nails out of the holes one by one, while I held his shaking little body up to take the weight off his paws. I think I was more panicked than he was.

He was fine, but I decided taking him on biking adventures probably wasn’t the best idea. Which was fine, because I haven’t owned a bike since 2006 anyway.

My theory is that I’m a horrible driver. Horrible. I get in accidents about once a year, and surely there will eventually be a whole blog post just about that.

But I figure since I’m SO INCREDIBLY BAD at driving that I can’t possibly be much better at biking – spatial perception and all that. And at least in driving you have a bunch of steel and airbags to protect the other vehicles (or walls, as it may be) from crashing into your vital organs.

And with biking, well, I suppose if you’re OK with looking super dorky you have a helmet. Possibly. And otherwise, you’ve got nothing. Nothing! You’re out on the streets with your whole body exposed and dumb L.A. drivers and you’ve got nothing but one lousy helmet to protect you from sudden death.

Still, I keep going back to one thing: I really do like to bike. It’s fun. It’s nice to have the wind in your hair. It’s good exercise. It’s good for the environment. It’s just, well, good. What is not so good is that I don’t actually own a bike.
And tonight all that’s changing. Because, as of tonight, I own a bike.

I’m not actually sure if I can ride it. I don’t have any idea where I’ll even keep it. I don’t have a bike lock or a helmet or a bike rack. I don’t know bike signals, either.

Most people in my neighborhood have fancy street or cross-road bikes (is that even the right term?) but this is a beach cruiser because a friend is basically giving it to me for a song.

And I’m going to ride that beach cruiser, damn it. I might ride it only in calm, residential streets. But I’m gonna ride it. Maybe eventually I’ll even coax my poor little pup back into the (heavily padded) basket.

Is it really that big of a deal to have a big ol' bike in the middle of my living room anyway? I'm hoping it's not.