Confidence is a tricky thing. I think of myself as a confident person. I do not know exactly when I gained my confidence in life. It was most likely not a single experience but the culmination of a long series of life experiences. I can say that for the most part I walk around believing that I am a capable, strong, smart, and grown up individual. I maintain good eye contact. I stand tall with my shoulders back and my head up. I smile at people. I am engaging and interested in others. I even have people tell me that I am wise and give good advice. So pardon me if I sometimes get a bit overconfident. Pardon me if sometimes I cannot see far enough down the road to anticipate the bumps that are rapidly approaching. Pardon me if I forget that I as capable of missteps and blind spots. A fall will come. Believe me when I say it always does. Like most of us, I learned to ride a bike when I was about seven years old. My first bike as a yellow framed Western Flyer with a sparkly banana seat and the muscle “V” shaped handle bars. It was the classic 70’s kid bike. I tricked it out with the biggest basket known to man. I was prepared to haul every toy I owned if I was ever called upon to run away from home. That day never came, by the way. Riding a bike gave a kid freedom and confidence. As soon as we could maneuver those wheels to spin without training wheels, we believed we could go anywhere and do just about anything. One day, Stacy, my brother, and I were spending the day at our Grandparents’ house. We had gotten over there by bicycle traversing across town on bumpy, broken sidewalks, dirt paths and narrow neighborhood streets. Our confidence in our abilities to ride was at a pinnacle. Pecan Drive started at the top of a hill that sloped, crested, leveled out and then sloped again. At the bottom of the last slope, the street made a fairly sharp curve to the left. Stacy and I got the idea to ride Pecan Drive together on his purple Schwinn Stingray knock-off. My job was to steer the handlebars and his was to pedal. I sat behind him on the long seat with my arms reaching around him to grab the handlebars. We started at the top of the hill and made it to the first level with exhilaration. We picked up speed, the pedals spinning faster than Stacy’s legs could keep up. The handlebars began to wobble violently. Our thrill quickly turned to terror. The curve of the road was approaching rapidly and it was obvious that neither one of us had any control to stop the bike or to make the curve. The bike slammed into the curb and we flew off the bike half onto the street and half onto a bed of thick pine needles.
Stunned, we were speechless for the briefest of moments. Then I realized that my brand new glasses were no longer on my face. I found them a couple of feet away in the street. A nasty, white scratch was etched on the right lens and the frames were bent. When I put them back on my face, I realized that the scratch was directly in my line of vision. I started to cry. Mostly I was crying out of fear as to what Mother might say about ruining my brand new, expensive glasses. Stacy on the other hand, was laughing when he got up. He checked the bike for damage, got back on it and rode the rest of the way to Grandmother’s. As I walked back, my confidence was shaken. I would be cautious the next time I thought about riding the bike again. I would not repeat the same mistake. My overconfidence would be tempered now by the knowledge that a fall could happen. My eyes would be alert to any pitfall awaiting me around each and every curve in the road. I would slow down. Until one day I turn around one day and realize that I have not fallen in a very long time. I begin to believe in my own invincibility. I start to believe that I have truly learned from my mistakes. I believe that tomorrow will move just like today and that I am capable, strong, smart and … Wow! What was that?? Bump. The rut in the road? The one I missed while holding my head up high and maintaining good eye contact. The one I missed while trying to carry more than myself on the handle bars. The one I should have seen coming somehow. I wish I were more cautious still. I wish I could remind myself to look down the road first, check all the intersections, look for the road construction before I start on the journey. I wish I would slow down a bit. I wish I could be more like my brother and simply get up, laugh it off and ride on. But I hate making mistakes! I remind a friend of mine frequently not to chew at his own arm. Imagine the restraints that hold us chained to old behaviors and old mindsets. Imagine our desire to be freed from those. We imagine that we believe the restraints are so strong and so beyond our capability to untie or unlock them that we would rather gnaw ourselves in great pain and harm to be free. We only maim ourselves and we are still not free. I am gnawing at my arm instead of searching for the key to freedom. But tomorrow? Tomorrow I will get up, laugh a bit, and ride on. Oh, I will not make the same mistake twice. You wait and see. | 
