My Little Red Bike

I was sitting here tonight, flipping through my now very full list of "delicious" bookmarks, and occasionally leaving to refinish my bookcase and throw some dinner together for my wife, when something very strange happened. Before I was cognitively engaged in the magnitude of the event I found myself surfing 6 tabs, and 4 applications all at once. I downloaded google talk videos and had a video chat with a good friend of mine across town (getting a tour of his new house), and then I downloaded Skype and had a video chat with my mom in West Bank (and gave her a tour of my new baby's room). I added several links and videos to my new school wiki, and read a few more links on Chris Kennedy's presentation wiki. I uploaded video from my Kodak Zi6, sent a few files to my mobile me account in the sky, and checked up on my own web page. Then I replied to emails, from all four of my accounts (and the five or six more that get forwarded to those accounts) and now I am writing a new entry in my blog while watching Peter Mansbridge. What happened to me?

I liken this experience to learning to ride a bike. When at a young age we climb aboard a tricycle and push ourselves around with our feet (using an email account). Then we see a few older kids on two wheelers and figure we could give that a go, with training wheels (surfing the web, checking out web pages and word documents). Then, on a day we are feeling particularly brave we decide it is time to take the little wheels off and test out our balance and extend the scope of our available world. At first, we ask for Dad to hang on to the back of the seat, and run beside us shouting encouraging words. But then, sometimes when we don't expect it, our support lets go and we're rushing down the sidewalk, feet turning madly, hands gripping tightly, and eyes open wide and unblinking. It is an exhilarating feeling, and many of us go through a mulitude of emotions, from a new sense of power and accomplishment, to an awe filled realization of the new possibilities. We are reminded of a favourite childhood story and wonder anew about the places we'll go.

Right now, I am in that euphoric state, soaking it all in, and wondering where I will decide to go. But as with my first vehicle to freedom, there are bound to be bumps in the road. In fact, more than bumps; big, hard, concrete curbs that stop your front tire dead, and send you flying (magnificently at first, then not so much) until you come crashing down in a heap of rash, dirt, blood and tears. When this happens I will feel deflated, grumpy, and ready to go back to the little wheels, and I will need to remind myself what I did, even as a four year old. I will pick myself up, wipe the stinging from my eyes and my knees, and get back on my bike, because I know that there is a big, wide, wonderful world just waiting for me to come barreling in to say hello, and I want to see their faces when I do.

Can you imagine how it will feel to drive a car?