The title of this article is…
This morning I went out with Bike. No, I’m not kidding, that’s exactly the name I gave to my bike. I’ll give you a few seconds to mull over the possible [super-duper clever] reason behind such an original idea…
1…2…3…4…5
No clue? What a shame… I really thought you could guess it: she’s the Bicicyle of Kevin, hence she’s Bike!
… tough life, I know…
All right, let’s set aside these silly jokes of mine and focus on something a tad more profound. As I’m taking Bike out of the garage, all dressed up in my riding attire, here comes a neighbour:
Look at you go! Where are you bound to?
At the very start I simply answered with my usual “I don’t know”, I smiled at her and took off. But the more I rode, the more that question seemed to “bother me”. Once back home I tried to understand why.
Why has there always to be a destination?
I am not saying I am about to unveil the secret of happiness, but I think it’s true that sheer joy comes from those activities performed not to reach a goal, but for the profound wellbeing we experience whilst carrying them out. I reckon this can be especially true when we find ourselves in Nature: if we move with a destination in mind, the risk is to focus merely on the finish line and not on the appreciation of the beauty that surrounds us in every moment.
I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.
Louis Armstrong, What a wonderful world, 1968
Why has there always to be a distraction?
In my ciclying I encounter a lot of [will be] athletes, who isolate themselves from the world by means of earphones. What a shame — I tell myself in such occasions— by doing so they’ll miss the incessant soundtrack the world itself represents:
- the barking of a dog bothered by our invasion of his personal space;
- the tireless chirping of crickets, the lively tweeting of birds, all united in the celebrations for the arrival of the good season;
- the breeze cuddling the fields;
- the twelve cheerful tolls of a campanile echoing in the valley;
- a mother calling his son as lunch will soon be ready;
- the exciting rumble of a cascade, the soothing melody of a stream;
- motorbikes in the distance;
- the sound of my happy voice greeting each and every passerby;
- the accelerated heartbeat when facing a steady uphill or a demanding downhill.
Why can’t we simply just live?
And not as if every day was the last. The very contrary: we should live every day as if it was the first. As if — that is — we were reborn each morning, we started all over again. As if we were children again, not taking anything for granted and getting excited even for the simplest and seemingly irrelevant discovery.
“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”
James Thurber, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, 1939
