Latest / Starting Over: Stories of Reinvention, Hope & Second Chances / The Tiny Miracle of Tying Your Own Shoes | Starting Over
Transcript
- You know that exact moment when your three-year-old’s hands finally stop fumbling and the loop holds? It feels like watching a rocket launch. Let’s get real for a second. Because before that magical click, there was usually a lot of noise. There were dropped laces, frustrated sighs, maybe even a tear or two because the white cotton seemed to have a mind of its own. And you, standing there in the hallway with your coffee getting cold, feeling that familiar tug in your chest. That mix of wanting to rush in and fix it, versus knowing you have to step back and let them struggle. I see you. I’ve been there. I remember standing over my nephew, who was trying to tie his sneakers for the first time, and feeling this overwhelming urge to just grab the laces and do it myself. It would take three seconds. He could be outside playing. But if I did that, I’d rob him of something far more important than a quick exit. I’d rob him of the victory. We often think teaching is about transfer of knowledge, right? Like we’re pouring water from a pitcher into a cup. But it’s not. It’s much messier. It’s more like guiding a plant toward the light while it fights against gravity. You don’t make it grow. You just remove the obstacles so it can reach on its own. That patience you’re practicing right now? It’s not passive. It’s active. It’s a muscle. When you stand back and watch their little fingers twist and turn, failing again and again, you are witnessing resilience being built in real-time. Think about how many times they will fail before they succeed. Maybe ten tries. Maybe twenty. Each failure is data. Each failure is a lesson in physics, in dexterity, in perseverance. And you are holding space for that learning curve. It’s easy to feel impatient when you’re in a hurry. Life moves fast. We have meetings to attend, emails to send, dinners to cook. But in those quiet moments by the front door, you are choosing slowness. You are choosing dignity over convenience. You are saying, 'I believe in you enough to wait.' That belief becomes their inner voice later on. When they face bigger challenges—school, friendships, heartbreak—that small memory of tying a shoe without help becomes a foundation. They learn that confusion is temporary. That frustration is part of the process. That the knot will hold if they just keep trying. But here’s the thing I want to talk about, the part that’s harder to admit. Watching them learn to do something so simple often triggers our own unfinished business. Sometimes, seeing a child struggle with shoelaces brings up our own feelings of inadequacy. Do we feel like we’re doing enough? Are we patient enough? Did we teach ourselves well enough? Sacha knows this feeling all too well. I spent years trying to tie my life together in corporate boxes, thinking if I just followed the instructions perfectly, everything would stay neat and tidy. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. I burned out. I crashed. And when I started over, I realized I had never really learned how to tie my own emotional knots. I was always looking for someone else to do it for me. Teaching a child to tie shoes forces us to confront our own need for control. It asks us to release the outcome. To trust the process. Even when the result looks messy. Especially when the result looks messy. Because sometimes, the bow won’t be symmetrical. Sometimes, one side will be tighter than the other. And that’s okay. Imperfection is where the humanity lives. Perfection is sterile. Messiness is alive. That’s the pivot point. The moment you decide to trust their ability to figure it out, even when you’re terrified they’ll trip. Or worse, that they’ll give up. And they might. For a while. They might hate it. They might demand you tie them every single day. And that’s fine. Resilience isn’t linear. It’s wavy. It goes up, it goes down, it spirals. But each time they pick up the laces again, they are building a neural pathway. They are strengthening the connection between effort and reward. And you, by staying present, by offering encouragement instead of criticism, by celebrating the tiny attempts, you are reinforcing that connection. You become their safe harbor. Not the person who fixes the problem, but the person who believes in their capacity to solve it. This is the core of true parenting, or mentorship, or friendship. It’s not about having all the answers. It’s about believing in the questioner. It’s about sitting in the discomfort of not knowing, together. Together is the key word. We don’t walk them through it; we walk beside them. Hand on shoulder, eye on eye, heart open. So when that knot finally holds, what do you do? Do you rush them out the door? Do you barely notice? Or do you pause? Do you say, 'Look at that! You did it!'? Celebrate the small wins. Seriously. We tend to save praise for big milestones—graduations, promotions, weddings. But the daily victories matter more. They shape our self-image. If a child learns that their efforts are seen and valued in the mundane moments, they carry that confidence into the extraordinary ones. They learn that they are capable. That they are competent. That they can handle hard things. And you? You get to feel that pride too. That warm glow in your chest when you realize you helped create this independent, capable human being. It’s a quiet kind of magic. No fireworks needed. Just two pairs of eyes meeting across a pair of untied laces, and then, suddenly, tied. That’s the miracle. It’s right here. In the hallway. In the clutter. In the beautiful chaos of everyday life. Maybe you’re not a parent right now. Maybe you’re teaching a student, mentoring an intern, or supporting a friend who’s struggling with a new skill. The principle remains the same. Purpose isn’t found in grand gestures. It’s found in these micro-moments of guidance. It’s found in showing up, again and again, for the small things. When you teach someone to tie their shoes, you’re also teaching them how to tie their own future. You’re giving them a tool for independence. You’re handing them a piece of themselves back. And in return, they give you purpose. They remind you why you’re here. Why you’re working hard. Why you’re pushing through your own struggles. We are all learning to tie our own shoes in different ways. Some days it’s career changes. Some days it’s healing from trauma. Some days it’s just getting out of bed. But we are all trying. And we are all worthy of patience. So be patient with yourself. Be patient with others. And celebrate the knots that hold. This isn’t a one-time event. Tying shoes is just the beginning. Next comes buttons. Then zippers. Then complex emotions. Complex relationships. Complex careers. The skills transfer. The patience transfers. The belief transfers. So keep practicing. Keep showing up. Keep believing in the messy, imperfect, beautiful process of growth. Whether you’re watching a child learn or navigating your own reinvention, remember this: you are capable. You are resilient. And you are not alone. Let’s get real for a second—we all need help sometimes. And that’s okay. Asking for help is not weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s knowing that some knots are too tight for one pair of hands. So ask. Receive. Give. Repeat. That’s the cycle of community. That’s the rhythm of hope. And it starts with a single lace. Twisted. Loop. Pull. Tighten. Done. Take a deep breath. Look around. Notice the small things. You’re doing better than you think. I’m so proud of you. Until next time, keep tying those knots. Bye.