The Bicycle Principle
A Personal Personality Assessment
A Personal Personality Assessment
I was seven, almost eight, at the time. Most kids in my neighborhood already knew how to ride a bike. In fact, if my memory holds correct, both my older brother and younger sister, Michele, knew as well. I was a late bloomer in bicycle riding. I just liked to watch. In many ways, I was frightened to get on a bike for fear of falling. I had witnessed the abrasions and broken bones of other kids in the neighborhood, and that petrified me. I wanted none of that, yet I desired to be like the other kids on the block, riding endlessly up and down the street.
Though I was frightened of falling, I studied the balance and control of other bikers; I was meticulous in my assessment. How does one stay on the bike without falling? What are the arms doing? What are the legs doing? If one is about to fall, what course of counteraction is taken? I studied and studied. And shortly before my eighth birthday, when no one was around, I picked up a neighbor's bike, set it on fire, and smashed it into a tree . . .
Oh sorry, wrong story. Allow me to begin again.
And shortly before my eighth birthday, when no one was around, I picked up a neighbor's bike, hopped on, and began to ride flawlessly. I didn't fall once. I was overjoyed! The moment I had anticipated, dreamt about, and imagined had finally arrived. Why had I waited so long to try riding? Riding a bike was so easy to my young mind. Of what was I ridiculously afraid? I'm not just a good rider, I'm great! Go Team!
And then to top it all off, on my eighth birthday, my father surprised me with a brand new Huffy bike. It was one of the best days of my life. I rode up and down that street, screaming with glee, for hours and hours. I am certain I have never been happier before nor since that day.
Years later, I began reflecting upon my experience of learning to ride a bike, recognizing that there existed correlation between that experience and the way I approach many situations, obstacles, or events. Learning to ride a bike was more than just a task I accomplished: it became the symbolic, subconscious schema I adopted to help me navigate through other challenges and events in my life. What were these principles?
For starters, I take calculated risks. I stand back and look at a given situation before investing fully into it. I attempt to weigh all the pitfalls and benefits. I am always asking myself if the harm is less than the profit. Is climbing Mt. Everest necessary? Do I really need to have my own small plane? Is there a higher chance of her rejecting me, if I ask her to dance? How vulnerable do I make myself in this relationship?
Everything is calculated. There are times in which I don't particularly like that about myself, yet, it is the way in which I operate the best.
I don't try things at which I am uncertain I will be good. I love the security of safety, yet, I do find that I can deceive people that I am a big risk taker. But in truth, I am a calculated risk taker.
Another principle of this bike story: I do it alone. For most of my life, I have walked my own path, on my own time. Unlike many kids in my neighborhood, I had no desire to practice riding a bike in front of everyone else. I wanted it to happen in my own time and pace. I am still like this. I march to my own drum, wanting to do it my way. I don't mean this selfishly, but I walk this road alone. Obviously, this can cause a great amount of discord when I am in a romantic relationship, but this is my life, and I need to do me.
I ride alone; I learn alone; and my greatest challenge is to learn how not to be alone.
Though I was frightened of falling, I studied the balance and control of other bikers; I was meticulous in my assessment. How does one stay on the bike without falling? What are the arms doing? What are the legs doing? If one is about to fall, what course of counteraction is taken? I studied and studied. And shortly before my eighth birthday, when no one was around, I picked up a neighbor's bike, set it on fire, and smashed it into a tree . . .
Oh sorry, wrong story. Allow me to begin again.
And shortly before my eighth birthday, when no one was around, I picked up a neighbor's bike, hopped on, and began to ride flawlessly. I didn't fall once. I was overjoyed! The moment I had anticipated, dreamt about, and imagined had finally arrived. Why had I waited so long to try riding? Riding a bike was so easy to my young mind. Of what was I ridiculously afraid? I'm not just a good rider, I'm great! Go Team!
And then to top it all off, on my eighth birthday, my father surprised me with a brand new Huffy bike. It was one of the best days of my life. I rode up and down that street, screaming with glee, for hours and hours. I am certain I have never been happier before nor since that day.
Years later, I began reflecting upon my experience of learning to ride a bike, recognizing that there existed correlation between that experience and the way I approach many situations, obstacles, or events. Learning to ride a bike was more than just a task I accomplished: it became the symbolic, subconscious schema I adopted to help me navigate through other challenges and events in my life. What were these principles?
For starters, I take calculated risks. I stand back and look at a given situation before investing fully into it. I attempt to weigh all the pitfalls and benefits. I am always asking myself if the harm is less than the profit. Is climbing Mt. Everest necessary? Do I really need to have my own small plane? Is there a higher chance of her rejecting me, if I ask her to dance? How vulnerable do I make myself in this relationship?
Everything is calculated. There are times in which I don't particularly like that about myself, yet, it is the way in which I operate the best.
I don't try things at which I am uncertain I will be good. I love the security of safety, yet, I do find that I can deceive people that I am a big risk taker. But in truth, I am a calculated risk taker.
Another principle of this bike story: I do it alone. For most of my life, I have walked my own path, on my own time. Unlike many kids in my neighborhood, I had no desire to practice riding a bike in front of everyone else. I wanted it to happen in my own time and pace. I am still like this. I march to my own drum, wanting to do it my way. I don't mean this selfishly, but I walk this road alone. Obviously, this can cause a great amount of discord when I am in a romantic relationship, but this is my life, and I need to do me.
I ride alone; I learn alone; and my greatest challenge is to learn how not to be alone.
