Pause. Violent laughter.
"You mean you can't cycle! You're 21!"
" (sheepishly)... Heh, yes... well, technically I do know how to cycle, but I've a morbid phobia of cycling because of past accidents on the bike. Anyways, yes, I'd love to pick it up again sometime... "
I remember I used to love cycling. When I was a little girl, I used to ask my mother for all sorts of colorful ribbons from gift hampers so I could tie them to my bicycle handles. I was estactic when I got a bicycle with a basket at the front- I'd imagine myself riding on fields with my silver ribbons waving in the wind from my bicycle handles, with a bunch of multi-colored balloons tied to my backseat trailing behind me, floating off one by one into the sky as the wind flirted with my mane of hair...
And then it came the time when I became too tall and grew too big to be seen unembarrassed with the two side wheels on my bike. Daddy took the side wheels off, I took to roller-blading instead and that was that. Years later, when it became too embarrassing to confess one's inability to master the world's commonest mode of transport, I tried again.
I managed to learn cycling at a later-than-usual age, only to land myself in 3 accidents, of which I never describe in detail with the exception to pointing to a huge scar at the back of my calves, lightened over the years.
I took to running and swimming instead, and never admitted how much I missed the thrill of zooming through space and having the wind caress my hair; I never admitted how much I missed having a bike of my own, with ribbons and a basket at the front; I never admitted how much I missed feeling so free, riding through the neighboorhood with my favourite toy gun in my basket. When I was little and if I was feeling blue when some of the neighbourhood kids weren't being nice at the playground, I'd take my bike out at night and cycle round and round the swimming pool downstairs, stop beside the squeaky swing and swing till it got too chilly. I never admitted how much I missed that.
After my accidents, I became intensely afraid of cycling. More than getting hurt again, I was afraid of losing control. I'd hold on so tightly to the handles that my palms turned chilli-red, and my eyes would be fixated onto the handles or onto the ground. Needless to say, I crashed, over and over, because I set my sights too near, didn't trust myself, and held on too tightly. Being on a vehicle strikes a pathological fear in me, simply because of the way it challenges one to be in control, in charge.
Because of past accidents, so intense was my fear of losing control again that I simply held on too tightly to the handles, so tightly that I could never find my balance. Because of certain circumstances in a period of my life, so intense was my fear of my life spinning out of control that I clutched onto Ed like my bicycle handles, so tightly that I crashed, again and again.
The more I wanted to be in control, the more I wasn't. I became afraid of cycling, afraid of trusting myself again.
It reminded me of what Miss B* told me during Therapy- that to recover, I had to set my sights further into the future- well and recovered, trust myself, and let go, to stop holding on so tightly.
Sometimes, being in control really means letting go.
"Yes, it is, Miss B. I will cycle again someday."
Today was a public holiday. I got up bright and early, took a stash of money, went out, bought myself a whacked up fifty-dollar second-hand mountain bike, and wheeled it home.
I cycled for an hour today. I cycled for a whole hour and couldn't stop- first at my basement carpark, and then through the park connector, past playgrounds and roads, houses and trees, upslope and downslope, and past other cyclists.
It was incredible.
With the wind teasing my hair and the sunshine kissing my face, I whizzed through time and space, letting my lost years come to maturity as I wheeled through the arcs of curved roads and bends. Holding the handles lightly and setting my eyes into the distance, I learnt how to let go as I wheeled freely and crazily and beautifully downslope. Had I tried to be in any more control and braked, I would have flown off my bike and land myself into Unforgettable Accident Experience No. 4.
Perhaps, being in control really means letting go. Perhaps, mastery really is surrender. And perhaps, for all our worries about life whirling us crazy, all we need to do is to let go, surrender and trust- both ourselves and God.
I bought back my childhood today for fifty dollars, and gained faith, trust and control. I felt like that ten year-old girl riding round and round her neighbourhood pool, absolutely content and giddy with glee.
It was incredible. To let go, and yet, be more in control than ever. It felt apt, to conquer my fear of cycling as its lessons paralleled the lessons I'd learnt in my journey through Recovery.
How I love the feel of the wind flirting with my hair and the sunshine on my skin. And I thought running was good.
How I love my bicycle.
I think I'll get myself some ribbon this weekend.
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