Last night I dreamt of ravens; ravens hiding amongst a murder of crows. Try as they might to unassumingly blend with the other corvids, I saw them as clear as day. True greatness cannot remain hidden. Like water against rock, it fights it’s way free.

Raven, did you come to warn me of misfortune or perhaps betrayal? Was your prophecy that of wisdom? I want to take heed but as in so many matters, I simply do not understand. In the off chance you are taking requests, a message from the god of truth and healing would be nice. Living with the knowledge that I know so little is a new paper cut each day.

You’ve come to me many times in the last year, Raven. More times than in the sum of my whole life. You have been calling out on well-worn paths. But, until recently, I never saw you, never heard your voice. Were you always there while I was busy sleepwalking?

One autumn afternoon, I heard you before I could see you. You were invisible, or my eyes were blind. I know not which. There was only your call carried on the wind. Though we’d not met, I knew your voice, I knew it was you on the far side of my sight. The omniscient voice told me that there was something more beyond my reach. But, the first step was to believe.

Do you remember when you called to me from the leafless tree over the river? It was just you and me. I stood listening as the sun reflected on your blue-black wings; you told me a secret. The knowledge was only for me. When the strangers came to see you, you said nothing more and I knew it was time for me to go. Were you there to guide my soul towards a new life?

That morning in the rain, you perched exposed, silently watching the fog. There were many places nearby in which to seek shelter, to shield yourself from the harshness of the elements. But you sought them not. Head down, you did not turn away from discomfort. You met it head on, diminishing its power over you. My wish for you was a laurel wreath.

Was that you, Apollo? 

Except, now it isn’t Tuesday anymore. It’s Sunday. And if you’re reading this in the future it might be neither one of those days, or maybe it is. The future is so unpredictable.

Though I’ve thought about it a good 150 times since the calendar turned the page, this is my first official post of 2019. And, I’m here to report there are still no flying cars, I never see anyone wearing a silver unitard, and worst of all, I don’t have a robot maid. So far, living in the future ain’t all it was cracked up to be in the cartoons and Victorian postcards.

Incidentally, I have many questions about this postcard depicting what life would be like in the year 2000. Firstly, why is everyone in a lake and why is there so much traffic? And how is that walking stick gonna help Mr. Top hat if he is in said lake? And… the horse? AND, not one of these people look like they’re getting royally chafed in the armpits even though their full bodyweight is being suspended with rope.

The waterwheel penny farthing looks pretty cool though, you have to admit. What could possibly go wrong with that design?

Here on Long Island, 2018 threw deuces and 2019 swaggered in asking if it could get a “what-what,” with a 60-degree day. Given the circumstances, it only seemed right that I did, in fact, give it a what-what and welcomed the new year on two wheels. My hope is that it that it sets the tone for the months to come.

But, I haven’t been out for a ride since. It’s been too damned cold. My chill tolerance seems to have diminished, even with heated gear. Instead, I’ve been keeping myself busy with other stuff and junk and am feeling pretty good about it.

Maybe I should be more judicious about giving out those what-whats, all willy-nilly-like. My first lesson of the new year.

Happy New Year 🙂

Recently I’ve become acutely aware of how hard it is to make friends as an adult. Thankfully, enjoying the same hobby or pastime makes the process easier. But, beyond the initial introduction, there is so much more involved in opening yourself up to people to the point that you can make a friend.

By the time you reach your 40’s, you’re likely set in your ways with regard to interpersonal relationships. Your past and the baggage dragged forth shapes everything you do. 

When it comes to trust, are you the type of person that gives it easily? Or are you someone who hangs back and requires someone to earn it over time?

Today I asked myself whether or not I am a trusting person. And interestingly, I was not able to confidently answer. My immediate reaction was, yes, I am. But, then I started to consider all the ways that I hold most people at arm’s length. It is but a few that get a glimpse of my tender underbelly. All of them happen to ride motorcycles.

The truth is, I don’t know what I’m really like. After all, there is your you and the you that is viewed through someone else’s lens. Is that all there is to measure with – your you and their you? Is there a third you, something like a real you? Or is there nothing “real” and only the perception of the observer? Is the cat really dead and alive simultaneously?

Thinking about the people I call friends, all of them are motorcycle people or spouses of motorcycle people. Is that a common truth amongst those who are passionate about something? It would make sense, really. You can only befriend the people you rub shoulders with.

Are most of your friends motorcyclists, too? I wouldn’t blame you. Motorcycle people are the best people.

Hello, Everybody!

Before the time gets away from me, I figured I oughta check in to see how you’re doing, tell you how I’m doing, and wish you a very merry and happy everything.

I’ve been writing this post in fits and starts for the better part of a week. Most of the writing has been done in my head while driving my car, which I guess isn’t really writing, is it?

Unfortunately, the car-ride, chuckle-worthy thoughts haven’t made it here today. Maybe they’re seeds for a bigger idea that needs to be punched up later. It can require divine intervention to be able to piece together a post that incorporates rogue pubic hairs on a toilet seat along with the juice of unknown origin that spills out of a garbage truck when it goes around a corner. These things take time to percolate.

Over the past couple of weeks, I haven’t done any riding save for our annual Santa Ride. Riding around dressed like the big man is always fun. Seeing the laughter and excitement on people’s faces as you roll up is a beautiful feeling. Highly recommend it!

2018 Can Suck A Bag Of Dicks

Hands down, 2018 has been the worst year of my life. I wish that I could sufficiently express the amount of mental pain I was in when I was at my worst. Many times I was faced with knowing that I would never feel better again; that the rest of my life would be spent tormented by my own brain producing negative thoughts at eleventy billion miles an hour. And then coming to the conclusion that I would not survive if that was all that was in store for me. It was fucking hell.

“The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.” 

― Ernest Hemingway

But, There Was Actually Some Good Stuff, Too

On the upside, these past two weeks or so, I’ve started to feel significantly different. On Monday while driving to work, I actually noted to myself that I felt happy. Not happy like my car was suddenly filled with confetti and balloons or anything but, I felt good. It had been so long since that happened, it was startling. That I’m okay feeling stayed with me all day, which was a major milestone.

Generally speaking, my meds seem to keep me feeling sort of flat. I can’t seem to get excited, laugh hysterically, be passionate or be super-psyched about anything. My days are mostly… neutral? That’s rather strange. I’ve always been someone prone to laughing fits and to being rather silly. And for the pièce de résistance? I’ve developed a tremor in my right hand, which is just wonderful.

All things considered though, I’ll take the tremor, insomnia and the neutral days over the hell that I was in. Plus, I don’t have to wash as many spoons these days because I can stir my coffee just by holding the cup.

Though I’ve spent a large amount of time going on about how shitty things have been, there has been sweetness, too. The most eyeopening has been the outpouring of love and support from everyone.

People who don’t need to care, do and have gone out of their way to say so. The cards, emails, check-in texts, messages – all of it has been overwhelming. I’m grateful and humbled.

I’ve been called a lunatic and a maniac many times over the last 6 months. I had it comin’, so I can’t be surprised. And though it really shouldn’t matter what people say, those names always cut me deeply. It’s hard enough to carry the burden of the war being waged within yourself but to know other people see you as defective is rough.

So, if me talking about what’s happened to me can be a benefit to someone else, then I’m happy to have shared parts of my story. Several people have opened themselves up to me about their own struggles with mental health. People I never would have imagined suffering. That just goes to show you that there is a culture of silence on the matter. There needs to be less stigma and more understanding.

And for my two-wheeled brothers? What an unexpected gift you’ve been. All those tacos, group chats, the talks, the gentleness, the support and propping me up without judgment and even putting up with my ugly cry face. I’d be lost without you.

What’s In Store for 2019?

As far as what I’ll be up to in the new year, I really don’t know. I’m not gonna pressure myself to be or do anything. Instead, I’m going to try to keep myself open to trying some new things as opportunities arise.

My single resolution is to take care of my frickin’ eyebrows. What do you think? Shave them all off and start over? That’s always an… interesting look. Maybe I’ll just start having them tidied and waxed again. I’m setting the bar low. It’s only up from here, dear friends.

Love the people in your life. Nothing else matters.

xx,
R.