My bicycle

I have a bicycle. His name is William. He’s a cheap yellow and black road bike. I picked him up on a whim when my mountain bike was stolen. He was my only means of transportation besides my own two feet for a long time. I remember my first 30 mile ride with William. I felt the whole world had opened up to me; compared to my old way of getting around and living in this world, my bicycle was heaven. Though I never intended to, I quickly fell deeply in love with cycling.

I started training for my first 100 mile ride. I rode every weekend and every weekday possible and I felt free. Whenever I had a problem, I rode my bicycle and found clarity. I found hope to live another day in Utah County. I found a place where depression and anxiety and all of my problems couldn’t touch me. I found a peace that I couldn’t access anywhere else. And it was great. I had inadvertently stumbled upon something that I never knew I needed or wanted. I felt I could live like that forever; just keep riding and riding and be eternally at peace with the world. After my first century ride, I still felt that way. It was grueling, I was completely beat, I got the worst sunburn of my life and I still got off my bike and smiled. I would do it again. I loved it.

I rode all winter and planned out what rides I would do the next summer. I’ll do century rides. Someday I’ll bike across America. Someday I’ll bike down the east coast. Someday I’ll bike in the Adirondacks. I can do anything.

But this spring something has changed. I’ve been riding more than ever, I feel stronger than I ever have, I’ve improved my cadence, and devoured cycling magazines, and rode another century. But I no longer feel invincible. I no longer feel at peace with William. And it’s funny because I think I’ve cried more tears while on my bicycle than is humanly acceptable but they’ve always been tears of healing and now they’re tears of frustration. I’ve grown, I’m faster, I’m stronger, and I finally know with a surety it’s possible for me to perform better and go farther and do all of the things I want to do. But my bicycle is holding me back. In order to do what I need and want to do, I need a bicycle that can withstand higher pressure, one made for long distances and speed, one that was made for who I am becoming. My wonderful, old bicycle is holding me back. The bicycle that I’ve loved for so long. The bicycle that has taken me thousands of miles. The bicycle that allowed me to discover a world I wouldn’t have known otherwise…

So I’m stuck with a decision. Do I fully accept that I have changed and need something better or do I stick around with William, the bicycle I love?

In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t about my bicycle at all.

The thing is, I’ve lived in a place without a figurative bicycle for a long time. I never really knew a life with one. Then I was inadvertently introduced to a lifestyle with one - with hope. A way of living and building relationships that I never knew existed. One that I never knew I wanted or needed. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am now with that small piece of hope I was offered and many times it has whisked me away on a journey to bigger, better things that I’ve always wanted but never had the courage or option to believe in. And now I’m here, with all my hard work behind me and the ever-pressing reality that I’m better, though nowhere near perfect, in front of me.

Even though it is good, it’s so hard to take this new reality and make it all that I am. It’s so hard to step forward and leave behind a way of living that has nothing to offer me now except a nostalgic set of shackles. It’s so hard to believe that somewhere down the line I can have the whole world and more if I would just keep going and accept the person I have the potential to become. Change the relationships that hold me back or simply move on. Just keep pedaling. Just keep growing. Stop looking toward the future of bigger and better things, and just live them now. None of this has been or will be easy or quick and it certainly won’t be comfortable but the only way I’m going to get there is through living in a way that doesn’t betray the things that I’ve learned to be true. Down the line maybe I’ll find someone who wants to live this way too.

I still love William. I still love everything I’ve been through and the means I’ve gotten to where I am. And, because of all that, I need a new bicycle and I need to let those things go. Down the line, maybe I’ll bike across America with someone who wants to take this journey with me.