Motorcycling

I’ve had a motorcycle for over 20 years now.  God, that makes me feel old.  But thinking about that first bike brings me back, too.  It helps me remember who I used to be, back when I thought of myself as a badass. Over the past few years, I got away from riding.  I was too busy parenting and teaching and cooking and cleaning.  And riding just felt so selfish.  

How could I deliberately make a choice to participate in something so dangerous?  My children depend on me.  My husband depends on me.  How could I put myself in harm’s way, knowing how much I was needed? 

Guilt is a tricky, terrible thing. It can make us ignore our instincts.  It can make us suppress our needs.  It can make us contort ourselves to fit in a box defined by someone else’s expectations.  It pushed me to stop doing something that I deeply loved. 

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This past spring, one of our amazing guidance counselors invited me to be a guest on her school-wide talk show. She interviews teachers in the building, adds some music and bitmojis and a laugh track, and then shares it with the kids.  It’s creative and fun and I was excited to be a part of it.  

There was one part of this interview that really struck me as I watched.  She asked me to tell the audience something that would surprise them about me, and I talked about riding a motorcycle.  I’m not what most people picture when they picture a biker.  I’m a teacher and a mom.  I’m in a book club.  I crochet.  I ring in the church bell choir.  When you look at me, you might predict those things.  They’re not surprising.  But a motorcycle?  Well, that’s interesting.  Good answer.  Surprise the kids.  Check.

But then, my guidance counselor friend pushed me a little bit more.  She asked me WHY I love riding.  I was surprised at the question.  I paused for a moment, and took a breath.

And then something really cool happened.  I watched myself on the screen; my face lit up.  My eyes opened wide.  I swayed my body as I described leaning into a turn.  I smiled as I talked about the smells and the sensations and the focus of riding.  I explained that I can’t think about anything else while I’m on my bike.  The simple act of riding takes ALL of me.  I’m scanning for obstacles.  I’m using both hands and both feet and my core to control the ride.  I’m hyper aware of my surroundings.  I can’t worry about what I need at the store, or what papers I should be grading.  I can’t think about my to-do list.  I need to be entirely immersed in the present moment. 

It’s a weird sort of meditation.  Block out everything else.  Focus on the present.  Use all of your senses.  Badass meditation, if you will.  

That very day, after the interview, I got on my bike.  I had reminded myself how healing it is.  How restorative it feels.  I leaned a little further into my turns.  I breathed a little deeper when I smelled the fresh cut grass.  I promised myself to get the bike tuned up and ride more often. 

You might think that’s ridiculous. That’s fine.  Most of my family and friends think it’s crazy, too.  They think it’s too risky.  Too dangerous.  Irresponsible.  Some of them laugh at the idea of me on a motorcycle. They really just don’t get it. 

But whether you find your solace in a saddle, like me, or whether your passion lies elsewhere, I hope you do have something in your life that makes you light up like that.  I hope you have something that makes you feel whole and rejuvenated and just a little bit badass.