My mother taught me how to ride a bicycle, and I can vividly recall falling off time and again, and her constant encouragement as I made steady progress. I have no recollection of her scolding me or telling me how useless I was as she guided me around the square where I honed my shaky skills. The more praise she offered, the more I believed that I could master the art of cycling.
There’s no doubt that I made countless mistakes during the process, but I never heard about them. Instead, I was guided to make corrections. “It’s better to put your hands here”, “Don’t hold on so tightly – that’s what makes you fall. Try to relax.”