The In-between
The most information I’ve learned about the woman who brought me into this world came from a police report procured by my private investigator. I read the details of likely the worst day of my mother’s life through notes entered into the computer system of a police department somewhere in North Carolina. The notes detail the investigation of the untimely death of my brother.
Maybe it doesn’t matter where you came from, maybe it really is where you’re going that matters. I don’t know where I came from. I’m not sure where I’m going.
Today I rode my motorcycle twice. Both times my rides brought me home. Both times I sobbed on the floor after I walked through the door. I ache in places I can’t describe for reasons that don’t have words. None that I know anyhow.
The hollow inside is getting more vast. I keep lowering myself deeper inside. If I press down far enough, if I sit with it long enough, won’t it show me its face?
The first ride of the day was beautiful. I rode back from a city not too far from where I live. Highways aren’t part of my skillset yet as I am very new to riding but backroads are. Shifting gears into the sweet spot where 55 feels effortless for my bike, where I rumble through the wind swaying under and over the current of air - where I feel free and light but alive. ALIVE. I feel. I am aware of the pavement whirring under my tires of how fast the glorious dance through the currents of wind could become a fiery harsh scrape with the ground. I repeat in my head the steps to slow, to quick stop, I scan for the potential dangers and the possible escape routes. Out on the country roads my escape route is generally the most green with the least brown - tuck and roll if I can’t stop and hope for no tree trunks.
Although the helmet and gear keep the wind from my skin, this float and speed is familiar. Floating at top speeds across the water in boats, on skis, tubes - that’s how I spent my summers growing up. The difference being a drop from skiing or a flip off a tube might hurt initially, but then I’d sink down into the embrace of still warm water. Momentarily dazed from the sudden jolt of moving so fast to coming to stillness, I’d pause below the surface - suspended in the light green of the water before pressing up to break the surface.
I haven’t met it yet, but I doubt the pavement would be so forgiving as the water.
In pursuit of finding a purpose. Creating a long-term goal. I find myself first needing to figure out how to feel alive. Not just to feel alive. To WANT to be alive.
And so I ride. I ride my motorcycle. The bike forces me to be present. In the present moment I have to be with myself. Being with myself is the best chance I have of ever knowing myself. I’m on a ride to meet me and I am scared to death.
