Relationships are like Bikes

The seven-year-old learned to ride a bike over the last few weeks.

She's normally afraid of getting hurt, but in this case she found a deep well of determination: She fell off the bike, got back on, fell again, got back on again, dealt with the bumps and bruises and scrapes, and slowly but surely learned.

She's a proud kid and doesn't like to be bad at something. Doesn't like it one bit. And in this case she had two choices: Give up on the tantalizing prospect of riding on her own, or keep trying despite the embarrassment of falling down in front of others, the (apparent only to her) shame of accepting that she couldn't do something that other kids her age can, and the need to slow herself down and take the time to learn. Unlike playing Crazy Eights, nobody else could give her this victory...it was up to her to persevere.

Learning to swim or to skate was a similar experience, but we jumped those hurdles years ago when she was small and wobbly and expected to be clumsy and mistake-prone. Now she's a big kid and this was not easy for her.

We all learned to ride bikes at some point in our life. We all got bruised. We all sucked at it until we didn't. We all persevered. And then in a magical moment for each of us, it came together and we were suddenly able to do it. 

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Enough about bikes. Let's talk about relationships.

Relationships are like bikes.

Relationships are hard. They give you bumps and bruises and scrapes. They take determination and perseverance. 

When you're at the 'learning' phase of a new relationship, everything's wobbly and precarious. It's easy to make a mistake and sometimes it's the right thing to do to give up. If it looks like a worthwhile relationship though, you've got to work hard to create the conditions where that magical moment can finally arrive and it's suddenly easy (while still requiring diligence, of course). A great relationship is a tantalizing prospect and so it's ultimately worth the effort.

Family relationships are another matter. They aren't a choice and there isn't a real learning phase. Family relationships are just there; they always were and they always will be. When they get wobbly and precarious, the bumps and bruises and scrapes are sometimes even more painful because this kind of relationship is usually so stable that you don't even have to think about it... Now, seemingly out of the blue, you find yourself sitting on the pavement, wheels spinning in the air behind you, head spinning too, in pain, and completely confused by what just happened.

It might have been a stupid little stone that you didn't notice until it was too late that threw everything off balance, but you're not sitting there thinking about the stone. It's the stupid bike. And stupid you. And the feeling of betrayal. And your bruised butt. And your bruised pride.

Do you climb back on (figuratively) and make it right again? Or do you dust yourself off and walk home sulking and angry, possibly kicking the stupid bike on the way?

Depends on whether you want the bike anymore.

But the answer to that lies in the inadequacy of the bike analogy, I think. It's probably more accurate to compare a fall-out with a close family member to suddenly being unable to walk. You might leave a bike behind, but you're not going to accept being unable to walk anymore...

Are you?