Did you ever hear the saying:
“When you have managed to ride a bycicle, you will never forget it.”
This analogy is often given to express that once we learned certain things, we have achieved something for life. We figured something out and this will serve us for the rest of our life.
Well, this is a very nice idea. BUT. Something clearly is missing in this.
Can you remember HOW you learned to ride a bike?
In my case it went like this:
I saw all my big brothers riding their super cool large bikes and silly me, the little sister, only had this tiny uncool orange bike named “Pony” with training wheels.
Very pathetic. I was totally embarrassed and felt painfully inferior because of my orange Pony bike with four wheels.
So I started practicing riding a bigger one with just two wheels, a rusty red Puch bike with no Pony marking on it.
To make it short: I had scratches all over my body, including my face, for quite a while.
But finally I learned it. Finally I got it.
Was it fun? No.
Was it easy? No.
Was it worth it? – Hell, yeah!
I was sooo accomplished managing to ride the cool red adult looking Puch bike!
This is a lot like learning how to make music. It is hard. Not easy at all.
It takes courage and willpower, it needs so much practice and it can cause scars because we experience frustration, disappointment, sometimes embarassment and helplessness (especially on stage).
But in the long run, we are proud of ourselves.
We should never forget how uncomfortable and painful learning can be.
We should never assume that any of this is easy, because it just isn’t.
On the other hand, my mother never learned to ride a bike.
She strongly reminds me of these people who say, “I always wished to play bassoon/piano/guitar – but … (insert excuse)”.
It is never too late to learn. Start today.
Always expect some pain involved in the learning curve.
Never let fear of failure stop you or make you impatient when you see others trying – and falling down. Scratches are included – this is a given.
What would you love to learn today?
Much love,
Anselma
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