A few weeks ago, give or take a month and a half, it was a very typical day and I get a text or a phone call or something from Karen. "There's this band thing such and such date and I need you."
There's always a band thing and somehow I'm always needed. Being my classic commitaphobe self, I give her a classic 'yeah, that'll probably work' and go about my day.
The next day comes "Can you make it to this band thing? I need you." This went on for a few days before I got the impression this might be something bigger than she was letting on. . . so I inquire for more details.
"It's a motorcycle ride for Wounded Warriors and I got guys willing to take us on the back of their bikes."
"What?? Where? Will there be highways? What if I fall? Do we know these people? Are you crazy? etc."
"I've never either. It will be fun."
I knew if I didn't talk myself out of it, if I didn't run all the scenarios, if I didn't picture being run across the asphalt like fresh mozzarella to a cheese grater that I would be peachy. I just had to get myself in the space between my thoughts and push all the negative out is all. People do this all the time and are fine! Probability dictates that I would be too. Focus on that, perhaps. Or start praying for rain.
The days inch closer and I'm half thinking about it, half going about my life. I tell a few friends who pretty much all think I'm bailing. Raghu, a drinking buddy of mine, had said that it was tough enough getting me to ski for the first time and though he could feel that I truly wanted to do it, he also felt that when it came day of that my spirit would be willing but my anxiety would push me to bail (like snowboarding) or would turn on me and make me sick (like skydiving, sinus infection, 102 fever). I agreed with him and realized that, although somewhat shameful, what he said was shared with the utmost love. I also told myself that I was so tired of being that person that his shining a light on my past 'failures' only made me want this success that much more. He smiled wisely and returned to his beer.
In the following days Karen and I ran into some guy at a bar who thought it would be great to tell us horror stories as we prepared for our maiden voyage. "Wear leather so when you fall you don't lose all your skin, and big boots so you don't chew up your ankles, and make sure you have a full face shield because even if you don't fall rocks will hit you in the face, and practice sitting still or you will fall over. . ." I chose at this point to bite my tongue and pray for rain. . .
It didn't rain.
It's the morning of and I am super excited. I'm up early, workday early on a Sunday. I've got these adorable sunglasses as to not take a rock to the eye, my leather jacket and a cute sling bag. I recall this awesome pair of boots I used to love but got too small around my calves at one point. I dig them out and put them on (I'm not sure if I remembered why I retired them) and as I zipped them I knew I was ready for this. I'm sure to some this doesn't seem like a big deal, and that's more than cool! Introduce me to new things to conquer! To me, this was big, I was ready to do something I've wanted to do for ages.
Karen follows me out, the GPS fails several times, it starts to drizzle as we realize we might not make it. I'm heartbroken. And in that moment I realized that it was time. It was finally something I would be wholeheartedly disappointed not to do. We drove 'em like we stole 'em and made it to the starting site.
vrooooooom vroom vrooooom vroooom vrooom. The Earth shook beneath my feet and my heart followed the tempo. I'm introduced to Ron, who is gracious enough to let a newbie scream in his ear for 45 minutes to an hour. He is, in my estimation, is about 6 1/2 feet tall and 400 pounds of solid tattooed motorcycle man. I take a deep gulp and wonder what he must think looking down at me with my huge goofy sunglasses, my blonde pigtails, my attempt at biker clothes and Sheamus's puppy head sticking out of my bag.
"It's my first ride." I smile.
He offers me his hand to help me onto the bike. His touch is confident and reassuring yet paradoxically gentle. I asked him where I should hold on and grabbed hold of him before he could answer "the seat, if you'd like". And off we went. I felt like I had been on the back of his bike riding these roads for years.
I believe in all paths to the Divine. I'm blessed that I typically find it in some fairly unorthodox places. I found this moment going over the Pulaski (I think) feeling the wind on my face, looking out at the water, and thinking about nothing but just trying to somehow absorb as much as I could of how weightless and free I felt in that moment. I could feel the leather seat, the lining of my jacket, the texture of flannel clad Ron, the padding of my helmet, the lightness of the air, the wear and tear on the road without analysis or thought. It all just was. He looked back in the mirror to check up on me and I felt him relax a little after seeing what I imagine was reminiscent of a child's smile beaming across my face, pig tails in the breeze.
He said when we arrived that I did extremely well for a first time rider that I didn't shift my weight, or seem anxious, or hold on too tight, or any of the tell tale signs. I was honored by the compliment. He told me I now had a great story for all of my friends. And so I do.
And so I do!
Share Your Divinity,
Kimberly
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