I used to know how to ride a bike.  I didn’t just used to know how, it was actually all I would do after school and throughout the summer.

I’m not sure when it happened that I forgot, but it happened.  Not in a wobbly-starting-out-but-even-out-by-the-tenth-pedal sort of way, either.  Somewhere in the seven years between my senior year of high school and my first year of marriage, I was falling-down-every-five-or-six-feet-in-the-street sort of forgotten how to ride a bike.

Everyone says you never forget.

Everyone says it’s just like riding a bike.

Seven years ago today, I was on my way to my honeymoon suite with my first husband, where we would fall asleep, and I would wake up with a swollen ankle from dancing too hard at my reception.  I would also wake up with a panic, realizing I had made the biggest of mistakes.

Three years after that, I would forget how to love.

A few months after that, I would fall in love again.

I shouldn’t have been so worried.  It’s just like riding a bike.