"Look ma...no hands!"

"Just let the trees guide you," my mom told me, "They help you balance." We were in Versailles on a sunny August afternoon. Like any storybook mother-daughter moment, we rode bikes. And she did it with no hands. Her tiny frame still as a statue and her bird-like legs perched and her hands liberated toward the sky: my mom knew what it meant to live. "Time me!" I rolled my eyes and I looked down the poplar-lined path, embarassed that someone might see us or hear her joyful screams. I timed her. Her wingspan diminished with the distance but I remember how stupidly I seethed in my teenage bratdom....I don't even remember why. All I remember is that I could never ride with no hands.
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What do you do with a blank page? Except for stare at the beautiful white with excitement? Liberation is so....liberating. In these past days I moved out of my house in Provo, relinquished my old room at home, cut my hair 5 inches, failed my final Final with flair, gave away over 1/2 of my possessions, and said my goodbyes without my characteristic nostalgia.
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Last night my mom and I went on a bike ride to pedal away any stress. We pumped hard until my hands smelled like metal monkey-bars. She asked me to time her. I laughed when I thought of my years of memories with her young-at-heart. And she did it with no hands.....for blocks of empty streets. I tried it too. And I did it. Not as well as she did it; because her legs know how to guide the bike from her years of practice (and her heart feels fine to let them do the driving.) Still, I lifted my palms up and saw my shadow of triumph. Then I understood what to do with my crisp page of nothingness. This is what you do with freedom: you just become free. And love every minute of it.