We live in an acquisitive world. More stuff, bigger cars, larger homes, faster computers, we’re implored by the advertisers to improve our lives with their hawked wares.
Such pitches and our response to them inverts the miracle that desire is. In its most incandescent, it is that need to touch the skin of another person, and while what follows can obliterate every other need, I’m looking at that space between when we name what we want and when we begin to fulfill it.
It’s what fills that space between where we are and what we want. And how often does bridging that distance require cash? Less than we might think. It’s as simple as looking at the blue sky and thinking, I need to get on my bike.
It’s as sudden as seeing a fresh line through the rock, the gap yawning between two riders. It can be as subtle as fitting in one extra ride each week.
We’re so accustomed to fulfilling our desires, how often do we slow down enough to feel that circuit close, to recognize that magnetism pulling us toward our own hearts?
Weekdays, the sun past its zenith, work complete enough to allow my attention to wane, I flip through the mental postcards of my rides and ask myself what I want to see, how I want to feel once in the saddle. Do I want the zoom of trees close enough to touch, the elegance of my tires rolling inches from a white line, the momentary weightlessness in the reach beyond a downed tree?
I’ve traded the super ego’s dream for how fit I want to be months from now for the id’s lust for today. The dive into the turn. But what is that difference? Its measure is taken in our blood, the way we return home worn thin as linen but lit in the glow of the appetite sated, savoring the luxurious bite of chocolate.
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Image: Jorge “Koky” Flores, JustPedal