October 3, 2019
There’s an old adage that talks about riding a bike as
something that becomes second nature once you learn how—a muscle memory that
you never really forget, even if you haven’t done it for awhile. Here’s the thing, though. They never really talk about what happens if
you actually want to forget how to ride that bike. Let’s say you’re riding along on your favorite
bike. It’s blue with little flecks of
glitter in the paint, because, you know, that’s your favorite color and you
love sparkly things. It’s probably got
those little ribbons attached to the handlebars that flutter satisfyingly in
the wind. It might have a few scuffs or dings,
but you love that bike all the same, because each of those unique marks
represents an adventure you enjoyed. You
couldn’t have wished for a better day to go out riding, so you’re out with a
song in your heart and a wide expanse of beautiful road in front of you as far
as the eye can see. You’ve never been on
this road before, but it’s promising, inviting.
Almost magical. Suddenly,
unexpectedly, BAM! You not only crash
spectacularly, but your crash is caused by being forcefully shoved off that bike
with no warning sign. You fly through the air, landing with the kind of painful
thud that reverberates in your ears and knocks the wind out of you, leaving you
gasping for air. You don’t know if you’ll
ever be able to breathe normally again.
You can’t even remember what it’s like to breathe normally, to not have
to remind yourself to take in air and let it go again, despite the pain. You
lie in the dirt, limbs akimbo, dirt and gravel embedded in the tender layers of
skin that tried valiantly to cushion the fall.
On the other side of the road, the bike.
It’s crumpled, irreparable. It
will never look the same again. It will
never be the same, you think.
Why on earth would you want to ride again? A battered and bruised figure might well
think walking to be a safer bet. A longer
path, perhaps, and maybe not quite as exhilarating, but one in which it is less
likely for you to get knocked back down into the dirt, leaving you struggling to
regain your composure, your confidence, your self. And so you set off down another path, gingerly
placing each foot one after the other on the new path. It’s slow going, of course; every path now
seems fraught with the possibility of an unexpected pitfall. You want to be prepared. You want to brace yourself. You want to ward off the possibility of being
taken unaware again.
It’s not possible, though, you know. And as you make your way down this path, the
one you had no intention of traveling, and certainly not on foot, you begin to
hear a little voice from within. “It’s
not possible. You can’t avoid the possibility
of pain. You just can’t. And in trying to avoid it, by being afraid,
you also cheat yourself out of something that brought you such joy.” You realize that little voice inside you is
right; you don’t want to give up the possibility of finding that joy
again. And so you go back. You walk back slowly, almost timidly, to the
place where your bike sits, bedraggled and damaged. On closer inspection, however, you realize it’s
not beyond repair. With a little care, with
a little time, you reshape the frame and dust off the dirt. You polish it again until you see the glint
of the glitter start to shine through. Carefully,
you slide one leg over, just to test the weight, the balance. An easy spin of the pedals propels you slowly
forward and you turn onto a side road you hadn’t noticed before. It’s not well traveled, but there are
flowers edging the path and charming trees dotting the landscape. It’s worth exploring what’s ahead. As you pick up speed, you feel the wind
caress your cheeks and tousle your hair gently.
You feel the kiss of the sun on your forehead and you find yourself daring
to breathe again. To look forward again.
To find promise in the path of the unexpected, unplanned. You are going to take it slow for awhile, and
you might stop and get off every now and again to regain your footing for a bit. But ride again you will. And you realize that
perhaps they were right all along. Maybe
you really never forget to learn how to ride a bike. Perhaps you don’t ever want to forget.
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