A change of season
Saturday I found myself on the back of a motorcycle of a friend of my friend, a man I’d just met but who was willing to let me ride behind him anyway as a favor to my friend, and to his credit he was a safe and excellent motorcyclist.
There’s not much to do when you’re a rider on a motorcycle. All the driving responsibility falls to someone else, you can’t hear much for the helmet, precluding conversation, so all you have to do is not fidget too much, not make a nuisance of yourself, and enjoy the ride.
It was a hot, muggy day, totally unexpected for October in Wisconsin, but the sun was shining beautifully, sparkling on the many small lakes we passed, and the trees were turning, and occasionally showered us with a brief fall of vibrant leaf confetti as we passed. I felt the wind across my skin, cooling the sunburn I knew was happening as we rode. And suddenly I realized something astonishing:
I was happy.
I was perfectly content in that moment. And not only that, but I even thought to myself, “It feels good to be alive. THIS is why we’re here.” I haven’t had a thought anywhere near that in almost 15 months. Not even close. That is not to say that I haven’t had enjoyable moments; I have. But to feel like life was good, just like A always said? That surprised me. I have been wondering if I could ever expect to think that way again. I guess the answer is yes.
And then I just savored the feeling as the afternoon went on, quietly delighting in my delight. I kept waiting for it to fade, for a memory or something to take me back down, but it didn’t. I thoroughly enjoyed my weekend, the airsickness on the way out and the blister I got Saturday night at the art crawl notwithstanding.
At the risk of losing the magic by exposing it, I wondered what had made the difference, what had made me able to feel so good Saturday afternoon, and all weekend long? Maybe it was because I was totally out of my element—a different place, different time zone, different climate and scenery, and other than waking up and going to sleep, none of my normal weekend activities were available to me, and I was even sleeping and waking up in a different bed to a different schedule, doing different things, hanging with different people, some of whom I’d just met, eating things I don’t normally eat. Maybe, forced to step out of my rut by circumstances, I did just that. I don’t know.
What I do know is that there are turning points in this journey, moments when you are actually aware of your healing making a quantum leap, aware enough to appreciate it and ride that wave for all it’s worth, because it feels better than how you were feeling before, and you don’t know if it’s going to last. I feel like I did a lot of healing over the weekend, and I don’t know if it was starting in that moment of awareness on the back of the bike, or if it was the culmination of wheels that have been in motion without my being too aware of it. I don’t have to know. But I feel stronger than I have in a long time, and able to appreciate things without a mental “but” always following any positive thought. And I am so grateful.
There is reason to believe this will get better. There is reason to hope.