The New York trip was all about the 5 Boro bike ride this morning…in rain and cold. Note: RAIN. More than 30,000 bikes. New York streets, where I’ve been cycling for three days. Pot holes. Oil slicks. Skateboards coming at you. Tourists not looking, other bikes playing chicken.
So even though I got blessed along with my bicycle yesterday along with hundreds of others at St. John the Divine Cathedral, I decided at the last minute not to ride. I’ve ridden the New York streets for three days and every mile feels like it counts triple.
Been writing recently about moments, the rain drops. The difficult ones, losing an iPhone. Or tragic, being haunted by Challenger explosion. Or a couple having an argument. Or a glorious beach walk nearly spoiled by a wave.
If I stand back a bit, the rain is still there on the window of course, but the plane outside ready to take me home is a little clearer.
But is life really pointillism, a huge collection of little moments? Or is it a mad spatter? Or slow and careful accretion? Building up a base of color. How much does it matter, these specific moments of life? And how much of it can we control?
And what does one take from those moments? Mentioned to Sharon that whenever something truly bad happens, regular worries just melt away. I think it would be nice to have that level of understanding–that regular stuff just doesn’t matter–without the electric jolt.
“Not all life is a lesson,” Sharon writes back. “Sometimes shit just happens.”
Indeed, but it’s how we think about that shit, and deal with it that makes all the difference.
And as I back up a bit, the raindrops all but disappear…leaving me with just the ride home.