The problem with leaving the training wheels on

My son has a phrase for where he is in life right now. He calls it “training wheels adulting.” He’s heading into his second year of college. He does his own laundry, mostly. He manages a schedule I don’t see and money I don’t count. He handles a bad grade or a roommate squabble on his own, and he knows that if something truly falls apart, home is a phone call away. Enough freedom to feel like the real thing. Enough backup that a mistake is a lesson, not a disaster.

Training wheels adulting. I couldn’t have named it better if I tried.

What strikes me is that the whole point of training wheels is for them to come off. You don’t leave them on because the bike is safer that way. You take them off the moment the kid can balance, because the wobble is where the learning lives.

Last year, dropping him off the first time, I wanted to hold onto the seat forever. This year I can see the job differently. Instead of keeping him from wobbling, it’s to make sure the fall won’t break anything, and then let him wobble.

I watch managers wrestle with the same thing. A new hire needs real support at the start. Close guidance, a safety net that catches the early falls. But the moment that support stays in place out of the manager’s nerves instead of the employee’s need, growth stalls. Nobody ever learned to ride being held up.

So the skill, at the dorm curb or the desk, is reading when the balance is there. When to hold on and when to quietly let go and jog alongside for a few steps, ready but not gripping.

He’s going to wobble this year. That’s not the risk. That’s the plan.