The Cure

When I am met with trying times, I usually respond with calm determination.  I take the situation as it is and figure out a pragmatic approach that will lead me through.  But, sometimes, all the stress, disappointment and uncertainty collect on my shoulders and I struggle to find the will to go on.  Some people find their strength in faith, prayer or meditation.  Others can’t find their way and resort to destructive methods that serve to break them down even more.  For me, today, actually every time, it’s found on my bike down a country road. 

I learned this coping mechanism from my dad.  He showed me how biking can change you forever. He bought me my bike which turned out to be the only way for me to save myself.  Better than giving me a fish, he taught me how to fish.

It’s hard to say how it works.  It could be the time spent alone, outside, quiet with only the sound of my tires on the payment or the birds that like to follow me.  Or the way the road grit covers my sweat-covered legs, arms and face.  Or the way I pedal until my legs burn, then put my head down and pedal ten miles more.  It all comes together into the perfect answer to the darkness that occasionally tries to smother me.   

My strength and clear mind return from wherever they had been hiding and I marvel at how the real me be so easily found by just riding.   I’ve lived this life long enough to know the despair will come back eventually.  And I will sit with its grip on my life for a day or two.  Then, I remember I have the cure sitting in the garage patiently waiting for me to help myself.