A Thousand Miles

Who knew that a beautiful turquoise blue bike, complete with banana seat, white plastic weave basket with magenta, yellow and turquoise flowers, streamers and training wheels could provide such a profound life lesson?

My best friend was a year older than me and had two older brothers. There was no way I could hang out with them on a bike with training wheels! If I wanted to keep up, I had to be brave. I had to let go of the comfort of the training wheels. I had to let go of the fear of falling, the fear of failing. I had to let go of my control and trust that the laws of inertia would work for me, too.

It took me quite a while to decide that I really did want to ride my bike with my friend and her brothers. I was able to fool myself into thinking that I was too cool to do something just because everyone else was doing it. But deep down I knew that I wasn't really happy with that decision. So, I sucked it up and tried. And-

IT. . .WAS. . .BRILLIANT.

That rushing feeling of joy--of soaring!--changed everything. I was now "grown-up" because I could fly! The wind hitting my face and snatching my breath away was the most exhilarating feeling I had ever felt--pure joy.

Fifteen years later, that exhilaration for life was snatched away. In it's place was a bleak monster weighing me down. Fibromyalgia. Depression. Infection after infection. Pain. Brain Fog. Each new medication added pounds (and pounds, and pounds...) Each new infection stole hope. Until I couldn't even remember joy. For nine years.

Ironically, my best friend, who had inspired me to let go of my training wheels, was sick, too. She was diagnosed a year before I was. She took me to my first Rheumatologist. She comforted and commiserated. And now she was ready to help me heal. She had found a new way to approach health--Energy Medicine. But to follow her, I had to be brave. I had to let go of the comfort of Western Medicine. I had to let go of the fear of falling further into the illness, the fear of failing to heal. I had to let go of my control and trust there were options other than being sick the rest of my life. So, I sucked it up and tried. And--

It was hard. But also brilliant.

Three years later I'm ready to get back on the bike. This bike isn't turquoise with magenta flowers; it's black and gray. I won't ever feel the wind rushing past me when riding this bike; it will stay in a corner in my family room. This bike comes with it's own set of training wheels. And I'm okay with that. Because someday I'll be able to ride a real bike again. Someday I'll feel that wind rush past me and snatch my breath away because my grin is just too big. Yes, this bike is beautiful. This bike means that I have hope. This bike gives me the opportunity to let go of what has been weighing me down. This bike offers me the chance to fly again.