Monday, November 11, 2013

Silence.

Silence is a funny thing. 
I've found, if you allow it to- it can eat you alive.  
It's frustrating when you ask questions and you get no answers.

I've also found, if you allow it to- it can heal your soul.
If you sit long enough in the silence, your questions fade, and all that remains is Truth.

It's good to have friends who know you well enough to let you sort out your thoughts in silence.  Sometimes you just need a good headwind and mindless pedal strokes to come up with your own answers that suffice.

Today, out of the blue, I received this from a friend in my inbox:

Yes, please!
After hearing him speak on Rich Roll's podcast, I had been interested in downloading his entire meditation program but held back due to the cost.  I just had to laugh at the impeccable timing and how really, this was exactly what I needed in my life right now, and especially for today, 11/11.

It's true, sometimes pain stems from silence.

But if you can ease the chatter in your mind, sometimes you will find that all of your questions are answered in silence.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

The Beauty in Crashing.

Of all the days in the year, I think today probably was the best day for me to crash my bike.  It seems that I always learn my lessons best in the most tangible ways.  So today, this is really what I needed for my heart and my head (not so much for my body or bike).  So I am counting it as a blessing.


The calm before the storm.
84 miles in, on an out-and-back coast ride from Santa Cruz to Half Moon Bay, a sudden sketchy span of curvy railroad tracks left me sprawled out in the road, my leg open and bleeding, with my bike strewn across the tracks.  I know that you should always approach railroad tracks perpendicular.  In most cases, they naturally run perpendicular to the bike lane, not curvy-parallel.  It caught me completely off-guard.  But aside from the physical shock of hitting the ground, nothing was broken, the bike was fine, my brand new Betty Designs kit was not torn (big sigh of relief)...

The remaining 10 miles were rough, but I survived.  My left wrist felt sprained and my leg was stiff, but it was good for me to immediately get back on and spin.  I told myself, "Get over the fear.  You're ok." Surprisingly, I was still able to enjoy the coastal view for the remainder of the ride, and to know that yes, this sport is risky, but with those risks come incredible rewards.


This view beats the stationary bike, that's for sure...
Sitting on the couch could be deemed safer (you don't need to wear a Road ID to change the channel), but I would miss out on the sights of the waves crashing against the rocks, hearing the calls of the seagulls, and feeling the wind upon my face.  Being vulnerable and open to new experiences has its risks always- but when you are in that space, it reminds you that you are a living, breathing, feeling being.  And there is exquisite beauty when you have the courage to venture and stay in that space. 

How sad if we allow the pain and scars from our past crashes to keep us locked in a cellar of fear, numbing us completely from the outside world?

Today was a perfectly timed tangible reminder that sometimes we are lucky in life to coast effortlessly.  And sometimes we suddenly and unexplainably crash.  And even if we don't know exactly what took us down, or how we got down- we just know it hurts a bit in places, but really, we're ok.  In the appropriate context, vulnerability is a good thing.  How much safer and easier it would be to never risk, to never fear rejection, to never really open up to love again- But wouldn't life feel shallow and superficial if you always played it safe?

Thankfully, the stiffness and scars eventually fade.  You get back on the bike.  Because there are countless beautiful roads yet to be explored.  And there are beautiful people still waiting out there to explore them with you.