Yesterday I biked and I wrote. I biked, solo, almost twenty-two miles in blistering heat and with one water bottle in my backpack. I didn’t care because I felt free.
My legs churned as I followed an elderly biker, a man who conspicuously did not bike like someone whose youthful vigor had vanished. His legs churned faster than mine, with more ferocity and less lethargy. When I slowed down he sped up, and poof — he was gone. Seeing that man pedal himself into the sun, never to be seen again, was inspiring. He gave me confidence and he will never even know, never even realize what he did and has done.
I passed up bikers and couples on roller blades, going through wooded areas and under small bridges. It was technically a straight shot to my destination: a metro beach that I knew would be full of other people. That was kind of the point: to bask in the summer glory with a group of strangers.
Everyone was there. Even though I arrived in late afternoon, people were still enjoying themselves before Monday hit them in the face. The kids didn’t care what day it was because school hasn’t quite started yet and their vision of space and time isn’t as advanced.
I found a decent-sized tree and threw my bike under it. I lied down and rested my head against it, pulled out my moleskine book and just started writing. I wrote whatever I wanted; ideas popped into my head at will and I jotted them down. I felt free because I was not bound by a deadline or feeling sorry for myself because I wrote a sentence that other “professionals” would deem as shit. So what. I had somewhat of an epiphany at that moment because I realized what writing is all about, and that is to write for yourself.
I want to have more days like that and I want to write more here, on my blog. I like sharing things with others who can see inside my soul, just like they expose themselves and let me peer into their souls as well.
Savor the beauty, friends.