"You could," his dad said softly. "But you’ve already mastered the small wheels. They aren't helping you anymore; they're just holding you back. Just focus on the first ten feet. That’s all. Baby steps."
Every great journey, Leo realized, starts with the courage to be clumsy for those first few inches. Baby Steps
Leo stared at the cracked pavement of his driveway, his heart hammering a rhythm that felt far too loud for a quiet Tuesday morning. In his hands, he gripped the handlebars of a bicycle—the training wheels finally gone, leaving two thin strips of rubber between him and the terrifying concept of balance. "Ready?" his father asked, kneeling beside him. "You could," his dad said softly
He didn't ride a mile that day. He didn't even make it to the end of the block. But when he parked the bike back in the garage, he wasn't the same kid who had walked out. The distance didn't matter; the fact that he had moved forward did. Just focus on the first ten feet
What or new habit are you thinking about taking your own baby steps toward?
Leo took a breath, pushed off, and immediately wobbled. He squeezed the brakes so hard the bike jerked to a halt. He felt the familiar sting of frustration. "Again," his dad encouraged.