Fall down seven times, get up eight

{Also, leaving your vintage bike unattended for years? Not good.}

Sunday, I chatted briefly with a friend. Both of her boys were born near the holidays, you see, and therefore get to celebrate their half-birthdays in the summer. When we ran into one another, the younger of the two was getting off his brand new bike. After offering appropriate admiration his eyes flew wide and a smile teased his lips. He then proceeded to tell me all about it–but the first words out of his mouth were not as you might imagine. He said nothing of the awesomeness of his ride, the training wheels that allow him to ride by himself, or the places he’s roamed.

I fell down, he said. You fell down? I echoed. Like a knight sensing a great conquest, he puffed out his chest, and continued, I fell down two times . . .

As we discussed the extent of injuries {my first thought when falling down} his brother sidled up. Well, I fell down six times! Six times, if you can even believe; with that, the younger had no recourse but to revise his exploits: I mean, I fell down three times–three times!

As if they are not ridiculously adorable enough, at that moment I could have grabbed them and gobbled them up. Cute, smart, and brave–wee knights, indeed.

I don’t know about you, but I could use a little of their unbridled bravery to rub off. To face life with little concern for the breaking of a leg or the injury to pride. To set my sights; to charge forward even when fear rears its ugly head–even when I could fail miserably, especially when I could fail miserably. For it’s only when we view ‘failure’ as part of of the adventure, that we’ll ever know just how far we can go . . .