Learning To Fly

I don't remember what it was like for me when I was learning to walk. I don't remember how many times I fell, or how hard I tried. I don't remember the screams of excitement when I took that first step, I don't know what the reaction was in the room. I imagine that they were pretty excited . . . who knows.

I sort of remember learning to ride my bike. I remember my love for training wheels. I remember leaning to one side when one training wheel was taken off. I remember the driveway I rode on. I don't remember the falls, I don't remember when I finally got it. I don't remember if anyone was even outside when I rode.

I remember when I learned to ride my skateboard. I lived next to a cemetery and I used the roads there to ride on. They were pretty flat and not used often. Same with learning to ride my bike without hands. Same roads. No one was there. Just me and the road and my bike or skateboard.

I remember when I learned how to drive. I remember the tight grip on the wheel, the chaos of all my senses firing all at once. Hearing what I was doing wrong, the feel of the car, the sight of me not being where I wanted to be, the taste of the inside of my cheek as I chewed away.

I remember when I was learning to draw. I never thought I could actually do it. I remember the steps, the pencils, the teacher, the still life. I remember the stomach aches, the head aches, and the smile after when I could actually tell what I had just drawn.

I remember when my English teacher taught me how to write a paper. I had never been good at writing. I didn't like it - it was too big. I remember the steps, the red ink, the journals. I remember the smell of the classroom, and the guy that sat in the back that made fun of me all the time. High School sucked.

Learning to do something new is always hard. Always. In some ways I feel like I am learning to walk, ride my bike, drive, draw, write, speak, be. It sucks. It is hard. But in the end I think something might come out of it. Something better. That changed person on the other side. I may not be great at any of those things - walking, drawing, writing, being - but I can do them. And in the end, I think that is all that really matters.