A Lesson in Gaining My Sense of Balance

by Mara Soloway, I Start Wondering Columnist

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”

-- Albert Einstein in a letter to his son Eduard

It was the big day. I don’t remember the specifics, but let’s just imagine my mom saying to me, “Let’s take off your training wheels today so you can start riding your bike without them.” And I don’t remember if she or my dad unbolted them from my too big blue Schwinn bicycle. 

I don’t have any photographic proof of this day. This was way back in the days when not everything a child did was captured on camera. I have memories of it in the file folder labeled “Things Mom taught me” in my brain. 

If it had been captured on camera, it would have been on Super 8 film. 

The two lead characters in this film: 

• Me. How old was I? I don’t remember. How old is a girl when she gives up her training wheels? Let’s say I was 6. That would make the year 1962.

• My mom, Joanne Timms Soloway: if I was 6, then she was 33. I remember she was in her standard summer uniform of denim pedal pushers and a sleeveless white button-up blouse. Her reddish hair was cropped short like my light brown pixie haircut.

  
  

The setting: our suburban street in Trenton, Michigan. Brick one-story houses – ours was yellow – with a skinny tree between the sidewalk and the street. Built post-World War II. Whenever I see that meme that says, “We had one toy when we were young and it was called outside,” I think of my childhood on Concord Street in Trenton. All of us kids gathered to play kickball and Four Square in the street, jump rope on the sidewalks, and run around everyone’s yards playing hide and seek. We lolled around on the lawn while our mothers gathered to chat in their lawn chairs, usually in the Merida’s front yard.

Cue: Action!

Mara, with her mom and youngest sister, about the time she learned the lesson in balancing a bike.

The film’s opening scene: establishing shot from the driveway looking at the two of us gathering near the bike.

Shot from behind us: We take our positions.  I’m seated on the bike, gripping the handlebars like there’s no tomorrow; she’s on my left with one hand on the seat and one on the handlebars. 

Camera moves to a side shot: we start moving down the sidewalk with me pedaling and trying to balance. My expression shows more and more excitement. I’m going to be a big girl bike rider now! Mom’s walking faster and faster, checking my sense of balance. 

Now she’s sped up to a light jog, and I’m pedaling faster. 

Without preamble, she gives me a shove, letting go of the bike. 

Camera is facing me: Wait, where did she go? She’s not holding me up anymore! But there was no time to worry, the bike and I were in motion. After a few wobbly moments, I finally get it! I’m cruising that sidewalk almost as balanced as a gymnast on the beam, a roller derby queen speeding on the oval. 

Was it all smooth sailing? No, but I’m intuiting how to handle the difficulties. One higher sidewalk slab approaching? No worries, stand up on the pedals and ride on. A pothole? Move around it and watch your balance. A person walking a dog? Ride on to the grass till you get past them (or stop and pet the dog). 

What a liberating moment! I have to think that successfully completing a childhood rite without a scratch or broken bone was my biggest accomplishment as a 6-year-old. The bike and I remained intact. 

The Bigger Lesson

What a sense of freedom I gained becoming proficient on a two-wheeler! My world expanded beyond our street as my friends and I rode farther afield to city parks, the old downtown, and probably a few places my mom would rather I didn’t know about. 

Did my mom assume that I would explore places outside our neighborhood? Yes, I see that she did. On summer mornings, she would say, “Be home before dark,” setting me free to discover with my friends or by myself. She was giving me a bigger gift of knowledge about balance – knowing when to roam and when to come home. She didn’t set a lot of constraints like today’s parents. She didn’t micromanage. She did want to know who I’d be with but not our exact hour-by-hour location. There was no texting, no calling, no photographic proof of anything. 

And I knew she trusted me and – except for a while during my wayward teenage years – I respected that trust. As I grew and matured, I worked to reclaim a sense of balance with her.

Only when I was older did I began to unwrap later her bigger gift of balance. I have taken the “know when to roam” lesson to heart, traveling even farther than some residents of that suburban neighborhood to live in New Hampshire, Hawaii, Texas, plus a short stint in Germany that allowed me to trek in Europe.

 The “know when to come home” lesson is really about knowing that home is inside me, not based on geographic location, and to trust myself, just as I did on that first bike ride without the training wheels.

Should we really strive for constant balance?

Can we expect things in our lives to always be in balance? Is that realistic? That would mean things would always be on an even keel, which they aren’t. Things get messy and go askew. It’s a lot like seeking perfection, which is unrealistic. 

For example, the relationship scale never really has a 50-50 balance. Whether it’s a relationship with a child, friend, relative or partner, one person is going to be carrying more weight. Family matters, work, health and other disruptors take our attention, adjusting the balance to 60-40 or sometimes even 80-20. For example, if your partner is working on an advanced degree, you will likely carry more weight in running the household. Hopefully, once they graduate, a more equal balance can be renegotiated. If someone’s family member dies, then that person gets a pass on worrying about balancing the relationship with you for a while.

A balancing act metaphor for life is more apt. As things get rough, you try to remain stable and move forward toward resolution, just like I did with the challenges of the sidewalk. Shift, pivot, adjust, and hang on tight. Moments of balance are attainable.

As mature women, we should be proud of ourselves and our accomplishments. As for taking on new challenges – the adult equivalent of taking off your training wheels – if you don’t get a push from someone as I did from my mom those many years ago, find encouragement from within! You’ve got this, girl. That sense of freedom and self-assuredness I experienced awaits you. Enjoy the ride!