I rode my bike to the Smith St. office this week for the first time this year. Downtown.
I wear a helmet, and yet my mother asks me if I’m safe.
I’ve been an adult for a couple of decades now, and still my mother asks me if I’m safe on my bike.
Apparently, mothering never gets old.
Anyways, as I was riding down Broadway around lunchtime, the wafting of deep friend goodness, curry, and other spices wafted from the food trucks. Yum.
Yum, but tricky too.
As I was riding, there was one point where the bike lane got a little narrow at a red light. The chip truck was a little wider than the curb lane, and the pick up truck in the next lane had a wide set rear view mirror.
There was enough space to pass through with several inches on either side, and so I set through…but two trucks, and l’il ol’me squeezing through. It’s the sort of situation you don’t want to miscalculate, y’know what I mean?
So I slowed down to make sure I would do it carefully, I put on my brakes to be able to easy myself through carefully and cleanly and safely…but…
…but all I got was wobbly.
And my caution, intended to make me safer, actually suddenly made it hard to get through the narrow opening. And as I got wobblier, I got suddenly nervous…
…and nervous people on bikes…well, they get more wobbly.
Not. cool.
It was a harrowing few seconds but I made it through. Barely.
(Just don’t tell my mom, please!)
If all the mirror and the chip truck knew of my cycling was what they saw while I was squeezing in between, they would think they should take away my wheels. When anxious, my cycling plummets. When it was most important to be accurate was when I struggled the most to cycle steadily and confidently.
Relationships are like that too.
- A defensive response is uttered reflexively before there has been thought
- A lame excuse is given rather than a genuine expression of understanding and regret
- A person tries to be loving, but it comes out vague, awkward and who-knows-what-was-really-meant-anyway
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