Getting Lost
I got lost this week.
Lost in the world around me. Lost in my own city. Lost in the moment. Lost.
I used to cycle quite a bit. I found it to not only be good exercise, but a good way to clear my head and think. Some of my best ideas and greatest epiphanies have come to me on shaded country roads, absent a shoulder and painted lines.
You see the world differently on a bicycle than you do in a car. You feel closer to the world around you. Something about the glass windows, the plastic dash, and the steel cage makes you feel like you’re so far away from what’s right next to you. From a bike, you know you can reach out and touch it.
The last time I got lost on a road ride was in the heat of a South Texas summer. Nearly 100 miles in, I ended up along the Galveston seawall as the waves of the Gulf of Mexico crashed into the rocks just beneath me. On that ride, I made a life-altering decision to quit a job I hated and move across the country.
That move worked out well. I found fulfilling work, met a wonderful woman, created a beautiful home, and have a deeper connection with my family than ever before.
But, I’ve gotten pretty busy, too. In the years since I’ve been caught up in the grind and day-to-day challenges of life in general. I’ve walked past my road-worn Specialized each day, thinking “Someday, I’ll go get lost again.”
So, earlier this week I hopped on my cycle and took off. No destination in mind. No goal for miles or speed. Just a bike ride.
You see the world differently on a bicycle than you do in a car. You feel closer to the world around you.
Something about the glass windows, the plastic dash, and the steel cage makes you feel like you’re so far away from what’s right next to you. From a bike, you know you can reach out and touch it.
It’s a different perspective.
That’s what I love about riding. It helps with perspective – not only visually, but mentally.
The world is a beautiful place. It’s incumbent upon us to enjoy it while we can and to also understand that time is fleeting and everything has an expiration date.
I was climbing a large hill on the first half of my ride when I could feel my legs (okay, my right knee) telling me, “You can’t do this.”
It was a significant slope. I’m not in coastal Texas anymore, where the land is flat – always. There are a few more hills here in Kentucky. And I am clearly out of practice. From afar, I was sure I did not appear to be a tour rider and probably looked more like a child on their first ride without training wheels.
But, I made the climb.
I reached the top of the hill, 659 feet elevation, and stopped. I unclipped and stood at the top of the hill, enjoying the view.
Overlooking the view, I thought of where I began in life. I considered how far I felt I had come only to realize how far I had left to go.
I thought of what I thought I knew, only to realize how much more I have to learn.
I thought of the importance of getting lost in what matters, not what doesn’t.
Regardless of what tomorrow brings, I can always choose my perspective.
And I can choose to get lost.