Guardrails
I have this intense aversion to self-help books, and yet, today I get to tell you two stories that maybe sound like you could read them from an off-the-shelf self-help book. They are both true personal stories, and I write this because I find myself thinking all day about the second story even though it's been a couple of days already since the event passed.
Sometime when I was about 8 years old, my father bought bicycles for my brother and me. We felt excited at first and envisioned racing each other on our streets and terrorizing the neighborhood in our new wheels. The excitement quickly turned to frustration when learning how to ride became a problem. No matter how hard we tried, nothing worked. There was this fear that came upon me, the fear that I'd fall and cry and bruise some body part. So I stayed safe and limited myself to riding with my two legs on the ground or walking at the side of the bicycle, trying my best to look cool.
Sometime later, my uncle came to stay with us for a few days. We honestly didn't get along super well, but maybe I was just too young to care about respect for authority. Then one day, my uncle asked if he could help me hold the bicycle while I pedaled. This meant that I wouldn't have to put my leg on the ground as I moved, because he would perform that role for me. It sounded like a win-win. I'd finally feel like I thought the cool kids felt when they rode their own bikes, even though I did not know how to ride. So we started.
He held the back of the seat and ran slowly at my back while I used the pedals. We went back and forth for a while like this. Then one fateful iteration, I felt the bike go faster, but I thought he was only running much faster than before. I laughed and smiled and kept my face forward, my leg rhythm steady. Then I started to notice something happen. His voice sounded farther and farther away, like we were pedaling into a black hole. I looked back and can you believe that he had left me a long way back and I was the one riding the bike? Instinctively, I almost started to panic, but weirdly, the feeling of accomplishment came upon me so much so that I didn't feel like falling; I didn't want to fall. I pedaled and pedaled, turned a very large turn and went back to my starting point before realizing what just happened. I rode a bike!! Stopping was not easy, though. I fell down still, but then, that good feeling, I wanted to feel it again. So I tried, and tried, and tried again, until riding a bike came natural to me, even till today.
Now, the next story is more recent, like I mentioned earlier. It's the third week of January, 2026. Sometimes, my mum lets me borrow her car to go to church, or anywhere I need to go that requires me to be mobile. I'm a stickler for rules, and I hate to be put in scenarios where I get to beg certain individuals, especially when I know that I may be a defaulter. If you drive on Lagos roads, you may understand what I mean here. I always hold my driver's license, and I make sure that the car has all its papers complete and up to date. I have this weird relationship with the police officers that man the streets and roads of Lagos State. They always stop me to do their routine checks. It's a standing joke at home that perhaps I look some sort of way that makes me a target, and honestly, I don't know why. There was even a day that I was stopped by three different police checkpoints on my way home from a really short location. But then, for some unknown reason, I hadn't been stopped by any police checkpoint since the start of the new year, which was really weird.
The day started like every other day. I needed to run some errands in the car and so I stepped out and zoomed off. Upon getting to my destination, there was something in the glove compartment I needed to take out. This is the same spot that the vehicle's registration papers are usually kept. There was no need for me to check for these papers, but some reflex action prompted me to just look for them. These papers were nowhere to be found. I searched and searched and searched. So now, two things filled my mind with intense anxiety. Firstly, I was far from home without the car's papers, and there were a lot of police checkpoints between where I was and my house. Secondly, where could these papers be? They are supposed to be at the spot for life, no one moves them, no one needs to move them. I stayed at the spot for almost an hour contemplating my next steps. With no option, I said a silent prayer and started for home, still anxious but with steady hands.
I passed through the first checkpoint, no one stopped me, then the second, still no one stopped me. The rest of the journey, I passed a rough road free of checkpoints and linked back to my house, not wanting to try my luck further. Okay. Now I am back home. Hurdle number two. Did some pieces of paper develop legs and walk away? Anyways, I'd cut it short here. It turned out that my dad needed something in the glove compartment three weeks ago. He had mistakenly taken the car's documents together with what he needed from the place. So now, look at Odunola Jenrola, the self-crowned "stickler for rules" driving a car with no registration papers in it for three weeks on the streets of Lagos with no worries, playing loud music as he cruises in his mother's car. I was not worried because my brain was tricked to believe that there was no need to worry.
Both stories are somewhat similar. In each scenario, guardrails I had placed up to "keep me safe" did their job a bit too well and so much so that I found myself limited to what I thought was possible, what I felt that that which was in my hand was only capable of doing. Now, please, I do not say to go out and commit traffic violations. But perhaps there is a chance we could be capable of so much more if we relax these guardrails and allow ourselves to live a little, take that risk and see what happens.
I'd end this writing in an incomplete manner, because I'm still trying to gather my thoughts on this. If you read this, and have some ideas, I'd really love to hear them. Please reach out, and together, let's help finish this article.