When changing the plan isn’t giving up

One of the best parts of summer in Aspen is that you can get almost anywhere on two wheels. As a nanny, I love watching kids grow into that culture.

Recently, I biked over to summer camp to pick up the 7-year-old boy I’ve cared for for years. He had just learned how to ride a bike without training wheels, and he was so proud of himself that it was impossible not to get caught up in it.

So instead of doing our usual after-camp routine, we decided to go big: we were going to bike all the way to Woody Creek Tavern for dinner.

The ride there was perfect. We cruised along the Rio Grande, and by the time we rolled into Woody Creek, he was completely convinced he was a professional cyclist. We celebrated accordingly, with steak and fries.

Then we had to get back.

The ride toward Aspen is, unfortunately, not quite as forgiving.

At first, he was still determined. When the incline got harder, I walked behind him and gave his bike a little push. Then the pedaling slowed. Then it stopped altogether.

But he still refused to give up.

He got off his bike and started pushing it uphill.

So I got off mine too.

For a long stretch of the Rio Grande, there we were, walking our bikes side by side, talking and making our way very slowly back toward Aspen.

I could tell he was exhausted, so I started gently offering him a way out.

“I think it might rain soon.”

Nothing.

“It’s getting kind of late.”

Still nothing.

I explained that it’s perfectly okay to realize a goal is just too big for that moment, and suggested I call us a taxi.

Absolutely not.

He was getting those bikes back to Aspen.

Until he wasn’t.

At some point, he stopped walking, let his bike drop dramatically onto the trail, looked at me, completely defeated, and said:

“Let’s just call a taxi.”

I burst out laughing.

Then he started laughing too.

And honestly, that might have been my favorite part of the entire ride.

Sitting there waiting for our taxi, I started thinking about how differently kids and adults see goals.

To me, calling a taxi was just a practical decision. We were tired, it was getting late, and we had already biked a long way.

But to him, stopping felt like quitting.

He had just learned how to ride a bike. This whole adventure was tied up in that new feeling of independence and pride. He wanted to prove to himself that he could do the whole thing.

So when I suggested stopping earlier, he wasn’t really hearing, “Let’s make a smart choice.”

He was hearing, “You couldn’t do it.”

And there was no way he was ready to accept that.

He had to reach his own limit before changing the plan felt okay.

That afternoon reminded me that goal-setting with kids sometimes needs to look a little different.

Instead of one huge finish line, maybe we make smaller checkpoints. First, we get to the bridge. Then we decide whether we want to keep going.

Instead of saying we “quit,” maybe we talk about changing the plan.

And maybe the most important word is “yet.”

He couldn’t bike the entire way back to Aspen yet.

But he made it a lot farther than I expected.

That day reminded me that learning to push yourself also means learning when it’s okay to change the plan.

That’s what I wanted him to understand: changing the plan isn’t the same as failing. It doesn’t take away from how far you already made it or how hard you tried. Sometimes a goal is simply too big for that moment.

And that just means you get another chance to try again.

I have a feeling next summer, we’ll be back on the Rio Grande trying to make it all the way home.