When I was 6 or 7, my dad taught me to finally ride a bike without training wheels. I remember it like it was yesterday; overcast, with the sun struggling to fight through the clouds. It was as if the weather was mirroring the internal battle that I was having, hesitant and doubting that I was ready, yet with the slight hope that I could ride a "big kid bike" soon just barely scratching the surface. I was dreading this.

My dad, being the competitive and encouragingly pushy, (which I say in the most loving way possible), father that he is, wouldn't let me back out this time. As he was unscrewing the training wheels and taking them off, I remember wondering how such a small change could make such a big difference in the appearance of the bike. In an instant, my little bike with pink and purple tassels and Jasmine from Aladin on the front changed from comfortable and familiar into something far more menacing. My heart sunk as he snapped my helmet into place, loaded me up with elbow and knee pads, and helped me onto what I thought at the time would be my personal cause of death.

Then he said the words, it's the same thing that all children are told when being taught to ride a bike. I made him promise and repeat that promise over and over again until I was confident that he meant it.

"I've got you. I won't let go."

This was true, for the first 10 feet, but suddenly I looked back, and my dad wasn't holding my bike up anymore. He was standing back beaming at me, looking so proud, more of himself than of me, I think. Finally I turn glancing back and coming to the realization that he wasn't there, my confidence disappeared. I instantly fell over. Hard. I felt so betrayed! How could he just let go when he PROMISED? With my body and my ego both a little bruised, I furiously stomped inside - as only a 7 year old can accomplish in the most adorably over dramatic fashion - and told my mom what he had done to me, expecting sympathy and comfort. Instead, I was shocked with what she said.

"You learned how to ride a bike! Go back out and do it again... And try not to fall this time!"

I huffed out, frustrated and just KNOWING that I would fall again, but the lack of sympathy lead me to get back on. I fell a few more times and in the following years I'm sure I fell hundreds more by being overly confident after I had gotten the hang of it. Even though I didn't realize it at the time, I got my first taste of what my twenties would feel like at age 7.

When you graduate high school and are going into college, your parents hold your hand through the experience. They might even cry when they drop you off, and call you every night to make sure you're okay. They give you money when you explain just how hard it is to maintain school and a job at the same time. When you're homesick or are realizing that being "on your own" (which you truly believe you are at 18) kind of sucks, they let you come home and sleep in your old room, making your favorite food and telling you that it will all be okay.

Those are your training wheels.

Slowly but surely things start to change. By 20, you've finally started to get the hang of things. You've made a life. College doesn't seem so bad anymore, and you think you have a good idea of where you're headed in the next few years. Maybe even in life. But they're still a phone call away if you're having a bad day, or if you need money, or are still having those rare moments when you just want your mom. You can always still go home.

They took the training wheels off, but they're still holding you up.

After that, everything changes again! At 25, I'm finally realizing that I'm looking back, and they've let go. When I struggle, I still hear words of encouragement that they whisper lovingly over the phone, but when I make an impulsive mistake, they aren't there to clean up my mess. When I fall, they force me to pick myself back up and whether I huff and puff, as my internal 7 year old self wants to, or stubbornly work even harder to prove them wrong. Bottom line they've let go.

I keep getting back on and falling again, but some days I feel like life should've given me a metaphorical helmet and elbow pads. People warn you about these moments, the epiphanies when you look back and see that your childhood and past are behind you; your parents are watching and beaming with pride, even when you lose your balance and fall. Life isn't a bicycle without training wheels - more like a plane that you never learned how to fly heading down fast. Luckily you've been given the instruction manual, you have people rooting for you; people who have been showing you how to fly without handing you the wheel for your entire life. They try to coach you through it, but they're not on your plane and their experiences were different than yours.

All that you can do is pray that you don't crash, face the problems as they arise, and know that even if the training wheels have been taken off and no one is holding you up, you will always have people who love you I n the background, smiling with pride and believing in your abilities.