Inspirational ≠ Insipid

  Inspirational writing can be annoying. It can sound like things a mother would tell her four-year-old child in a 1930s Frank Capra movie.  I suspect most inspirational writers don't live up to their own advice; if they do, they must be incredibly annoying people.

This week, I ran out of books to read (always a dicey time around our house), so I picked over my wife's picked-over bookshelves and found a little volume that surprised me: Live and Learn and Pass it On. Hundreds of people, age 5 to 95, were asked to make short statements about what they've learned in their lives.

The results are often earthy, funny, and inspiring. I sat down this morning to make a first pass at a list, just to see what it would look like. Given that life has been pretty stressful over the last year, it started out heavy on the "hard facts of life," but I got around to inserting some light in there, too.

Here, then, are some things that I've learned in 48 years of living, with no editing and in no particular order. The whole list took 15 minutes:

1.    I've learned that I know a lot less than I think I know, and the things I’m most certain about are sometimes plain wrong.

2.    I've learned that I know a lot more than I think I know. If something scares me, but I just start doing it, it works out.

3.    I’ve learned that most decisions and truths are relative (which is both comforting and disturbing). Make a move, don’t waste life worrying.

4.    I’ve learned that love is uncertain. But also a powerful sustaining force and bonding agent.

5.    I’ve learned that health is relative. You always have some, until you’re dead. Use it.

6.    I’ve learned that leisure is best taken in measure. Too much, and my mood slips downward.

7.    I’ve learned that a truly earnest politician is as rare as gold.

8.    I’ve learned that any company or work organization larger than 10 people has done things I won’t like.

9.    I’ve learned that the wonder and energy in a little child is a powerful tonic, and is very durable. It takes tons to disillusion a child.

10.    I’ve learned that the longer I live, the harder it is to keep that wonder alive. And the more important.

11.    I’ve learned that no one is all good. But some people are WAY more good than others.

12.    I’ve also learned that no one is all bad, with the same corollary.

13.    I’ve learned that life expresses itself in its purest form in Nature, and that time there is always well spent.

14.    I’ve learned that a lot of what happens to me – good or bad – is stuff I never thought would happen to me.

15.    Important corollary: I’ve learned that what I worry about rarely happens.

16.    I’ve learned that money is very important and helpful.

17.    I’ve learned that the most important things are my relationships, my health, a decent job, and having fun. Money isn't on that list.

18.    I may be learning that I will have more success – whatever that may mean – if I think I deserve more success.

19.    I’ve learned that unhappiness is tolerable even in overwhelming doses, and is always followed by happiness – sometimes in overwhelming doses.

20.    I’ve learned that two sunny, warm days in a row make me feel 19 again.

21.    I’ve learned that I have to do stupid, fun things to be able to be mature the rest of the time.



22. I've learned that I often can't remember the things I've learned when I most need them.


With that, I'm off to strap on the helmet and crash around recklessly in the woods. Please add your own tidbits in the comments section.

And get out there today -- time's a-wastin'.

A Fixed Position vs. the Eternal Flux

As a Navy cadet, I failed a course in celestial navigation, partly because of my innumeracy and partly because I thought the navigator’s perpetual quest to fix his position created a bad precedent for piloting through one’s life where the course must follow the eternal flux, a grand flowing that turns celestial fixes to flumdiddle …. A fixed position lasts only a moment, but the times when I remembered a particular run of river and what it was like… moments like those can reappear and last for hours, even until the end. The more miles I put under me, the more those recollections become the very vessels carrying me to the finish.

~ William Least Heat-Moon, River-horse

Velophoriacs know that I am constantly trying to reconcile my goal-oriented, driven side and my reflective, outdoors-loving, John Muir side.

I don’t know if it’s just that I’m tired out and distracted by our current, all-consuming adventure of buying and moving into a house, or if I’m really beginning to figure out which side of that equation I really fall on, but lately, I’ve been finding myself more and more just going out for a ride. I still have some large-scale goals, and I still do specific workouts and gym exercises, but less than I used to.

When I got my shiny new cherry-red Cannondale CAAD 8 last year, I couldn’t bring myself to mar the esthetics with a cyclocomputer. Eventually, I found that I rode with more zest and awareness without it. I left my heart-rate monitor at home a lot, and learned to feel the difference between a three-hour pace and a two-hour pace. I noticed my surroundings more. I varied my routes more.

With all of that feeling and perceiving going on, I found it really intriguing that I got faster and stronger than I'd ever been. Numbers didn't tell me that; rather, when I rode with friends, their breathing would be more ragged, or I would take more and longer pulls than they would.

That kind of large-scale, real world measurement was much more rewarding than, “I finished that route one minute faster than last month” or “I added 5% to my max elevation.” Those numbers, in fact, mean nothing beyond their own constricted frame of reference, because the variables that the “eternal flux” throws at me from one ride to the next – even on the same route – are infinite. The next time I rode with friends, it might rain. Or I might have ridden hard the day before, or be working on a demanding project at work. It boils down to this: I would either be stronger than them, or I wouldn’t. If I wasn’t, they would tow me. Next time, I might be able to return the favor (and take the credit). That’s the flux I want to be a part of, be at peace with. That’s the world-view I’ve been seeking since I was old enough to start thinking for myself, and realized that I was the only one making myself crazy with comparisons, measurements and expectations.

It’s almost May, and I still don’t have a computer on my bike. It’s been weeks since I wore a heart-rate monitor. But I’ve already made some sweet velo-memories for 2010 – and, at the same time, managed to be the one doing the towing on a couple of rides. I’d call that the beginning of a reconciliation of opposing desires. And of a great season.

Competition and Joy

… being free of the need to win results in greater personal power and performance. Let the possibility of winning keep you alert and sharp. If you win, terrific; if not, feel the joy and satisfaction of having participated. Focus on how well you are mastering specific skills. Notice how the event provided you with an opportunity to display your skills against challenging competition. Win or lose, you have to dig down inside and discover other aspects of your essence.

Chungliang Al Huang and Jerry Lynch, Thinking Body, Dancing Mind

Is this something you can do? Can you compete just for the joy of it?

More and more these days, I’m convinced that it takes true self-esteem to do this. Personally, I don’t know if I’m capable of it. My worst self sometimes comes out in competition. I tend to become very “all or nothing,” and to take losing -- and winning -- much too personally.

Which is why I’ve stayed away from racing so far. If I trained for racing, I would likely take the whole thing ridiculously seriously, all out of proportion to my low level of experience and talent. And all because I can’t stand to perform one iota less than my ultimate. And – to give the full confession -- because I hate losing more than I love winning. Sri Bobke says this is the secret to being a great racer. The problem is, if you start from there, you can never enjoy yourself – you’re always trying to pedal faster than the inner hounds snapping at your metaphorical heels. And those suckers have no ceiling on their VO2 max.

Still, I can’t stay away from the thought of racing. I tease myself with it over and over. And, if I do it, being the good therapist I am (or try to be), I would have to take the challenge that Huang and Lynch throw down in that quote. So, there’s a chance it could be a healing and empowering experience on an important level.


Last night, I was browsing around the ‘net trying to find out if anyone else out there is bent enough to think about the kinds of things I do when I’m riding my bike. I found the following at epicriding.com, a blog by a fellow who calls himself Grizzly Adam:

I see myself focusing more on speed in the coming year. More on racing, on competition, on winning. The last several months have seen me explore the intangible, even spiritual side of mountain biking… If the idealism I am envisioning is possible in reality, then 2009 will see a merging of both sentiments, both aspects of riding. That is, the speed and the serenity will combine into what I hope will be something like the observations of Abbey and the competitive cruelty of Eddie Merckx.

(Go here for the whole piece – and check the rest of the blog out while you’re there. It’s good writing.)

So, we might be few, but clearly I’m not alone out here, trying to pedal holistic circles long enough to alchemically merge some of these polar opposites inside me. Wish me luck, and lots of glucose.