Abbey's Road: A bike-riding lesson in reaching out

One Sunday afternoon not long ago, I was in a funk and decided to go for a bike ride because that is a thing I do.

Because my dad is Mr. Fix-It, and because my normal bike was in his basement “shop” undergoing repairs, I had to borrow a backup bike from Dad’s fleet of extras.

The gear shift mechanisms on the borrowed bike — which I’d previously ridden in my Sprint Triathlon Era — were different from the ones on my clunky retro Schwinn, and I thought I remembered how to operate them correctly until I was climbing a gradual incline and tried to downshift but found myself stuck in high gear.

It didn’t help that the seat was too high, but I was too stubborn to stop and try to fix it.

So here I was, climbing a hill with great effort at a very slow pace, determined not to quit, convinced that if I just kept pressing the shifter at various intervals or maybe hit a really big bump, everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be.

That didn’t happen.

Of course, I had the thought, “You should call Dad.”

But I was so determined to fix it myself and not ask for help that this was not, for me, a possibility. This is the way I have always operated. Just ask my dad.

So I kept going. And the pedaling was much harder than it should have been. And I was unnecessarily tired and frustrated and angry at the whole situation. And I kept thinking, “You could solve this problem if you would just call Dad.”

But in my pride and stubbornness, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

So, I suffered through a few more miles until eventually I reached a breaking point and realized I had nothing to lose by making the call. My dad wouldn’t judge me; he would be happy to help. The remainder of my ride would be infinitely more enjoyable, and I wouldn’t have to work nearly as hard.

With a sigh of defeat, I reached into my bag, dialed Dad and in two minutes, he figured out the (embarrassingly simple) solution. (I was pressing the wrong part of the shifter. Yes, that’s it.)

And this is where we circle back to life and the importance of interconnectedness and reaching out for help when we need it.

We come to seasons where we are spinning our wheels and putting in maximum effort to try to micromanage our lives, but it doesn’t seem to get any easier; we are tired and frustrated, but too stubborn to admit we can’t do it on our own. In truth, all we really need to do is call Dad. Or a friend. A counselor. Someone who loves us enough to listen and guide us along the path.

But sometimes it takes a dire situation or breaking point for us to finally realize that life will actually be much better for us if we just get over our pride and reach out. Making that decision can be the hardest step in the process, but once it’s done, we often wonder why we waited so long.

So, if you’re me and pedaling uphill against the wind in a hailstorm and your gears are stuck and your brakes won’t work and the world feels against you, please stop trying to be strong and pick up your phone and call Dad.

Or a friend. Or a counselor. Or someone who will listen to you and help you learn how to downshift and manage life again.

Pray, if that’s a thing you do. (Even if it’s not — what have you got to lose?)

Because life was not meant to be lived solo, as much as the introverts among us wish that could be the case. (Even they have people. Trust me, I know a handful.)

If life is hard — or even if it’s not — pick up the phone. When you figure out how to downshift and the sun comes out and you finally feel the wind at your back, you’ll be really glad you did.

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at [email protected], but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.

This article originally appeared on Newark Advocate: Abbey's Road: A bike ride teaches the importance of asking for help