It Clicked

I woke up this morning ready to put my cycling shoes on for the first time in over a month.  The impracticality of bringing my bike home plus a nasty sickness I contracted at the end of break were the main causes of my extended hiatus, and although the rest was nice, I've been antsy to get back on my bike and start building a riding base.  Not only that, but I recently upgraded my rusted old mountain bike pedals to a set more appropriate to my fancy little Specialized Transition: Speed Play Light Action pedals.  I was excited to see if these pedals were really as nice as I'd heard.  However, as Kacy and I left our apartment this morning and headed to the meeting spot at our local bike shop, I discovered that I was having problems clipping in.

No big deal, I thought.  It's not going to be exactly the same, but it's just a fine adjustment to a movement you learned two years ago.  Turns out I couldn't quite nail that "fine adjustment."  I tried sliding the cleat in, growing more and more frustrated by the second.  I stomped down on my pedals, hoping the force would help the cleat lock into the pedal.  No luck.  Grumbling and swearing, I decided to just ride over to the bike shop not clipped in and see if anybody could help me once we arrived.   Though it was somewhat awkward-feeling, I made it.  There was a slight problem, though.  Nobody showed up to the planned ride.  Whether it was due to our lateness, poor turnout, or people participating in a local century ride, I'm not sure.  We spent a few minutes fiddling with my pedals and shoes, trying to figure out the best way to make it work.  Finally, frustrated and out of options, I decided to throw in the towel.  "I'll just ride home and take it back here when the shop opens and they can help me figure it out," I told Kacy.

I started back home, thoroughly disgusted with the unproductive nature of the morning.  I was getting ready to turn on the road leading to our apartment complex when I heard it.  CLICK! As I leaned into the turn, the slight pressure I subconsciously applied to my toe turned out to be just the right amount to get the cleat to lock into place.  I started to laugh.  Right at the moment when I was sure I couldn't figure it out, literally and figuratively it just "clicked."  It struck me that not just in cycling but also in life, inspiration can come from the strangest places.  I am very guilty sometimes of letting frustration turn me inside out.  In fact, most of the anger and sadness I've experienced in my life comes not directly from events themselves, but my inability to understand them.  I like things to make sense.  It's why my field of study is in the sciences and also why I like endurance sports, where most things can be measured and planned.  However, I (and many others, I'm sure) would do well to take a lesson from my bike pedals.  Sometimes life will be frustrating.  Often things won't make sense.  It might seem like a lot of effort is put in sometimes for small results.  The key, I'm learning, is to realize that you can't make things make sense.  You just have to keep on moving forward and putting the effort in.  When the time is right, and sometimes when you least expect it...things will just "click."  You know how it's supposed to feel and simply have to trust that it will happen.  It takes patience, it takes time, and it usually takes an insight you wouldn't have had if the going was easy.  So whether it's a physics problem, a new job, dating, or training for a challenging race, the thing to remember is not to let frustration beat you down.  Smile in the face of challenges, be open to thinking of problems in new ways, and enjoy the life that you have. Only then will you hear it--the sound of things falling into place.

And that bike ride? I soon figured out the right amount of pressure to apply at the toe and got the other foot in.  I decided that now that I had the cleats locked in, there was no reason not to ride.  I spent a few minutes making sure I could comfortably get in and out of my pedals, and headed to the bike trail to enjoy the morning.  It was a gorgeous morning, too.  The air was fresh and the birds were chirping and as I paused by the Paynes Prairie overlook on my way back, I thought, I might not understand everything, but life is good.

Goodbyes

I hate goodbyes.  I've never been particularly good at them.  Then again, I don't really know if anyone actually possesses that talent. I only know I always end up standing there, with no tears when tears would certainly be appropriate, feeling like my heart is splintering.  Yet they are a part of life.  Change, beginnings, and endings are often inevitable.  But when people start to become a main focus in your life, you often find that goodbye becomes hard to deal with.

Of course, there are many different types of goodbye.  There are the temporary goodbyes, the long-term goodbyes, the necessary goodbyes, and the unnecessary goodbyes.  There are those in which two people become separated by physical distance, and those in which somebody simply chooses to walk out of your life.  While some of these are certainly more frustrating than others, they all share a common thread: somebody who used to be a frequent visitor in your life now turns up less often.  In a way, goodbye can be a good thing.  It can show you who's willing to stick it out to remain a part of your life--and who's not.  Sometimes this isn't the most pleasant realization.  We all spend a finite period on this planet, and time is often a more valuable currency than dollars and change.  After all, you can earn back money, but you can't ever turn back the clock.  Spending time on someone who doesn't really think you matter is the biggest waste of all.

As I say "goodbye" to 2012, sometimes I'm not sure if I've learned anything at all.  Sometimes I think that all I can take away from it is that life is weird and unpredictable.  But then I remember that trying to make sense out of such a chaotic world can be nearly impossible.  There are a couple of things I do know.  I know that this year has changed me in some ways, but it has also shown me more of who I am.  I have a direction I want to go with my life, and though I'm far from perfect I'm okay with the person I'm becoming.

And the goodbyes I've had to say? I am stubborn and blindly loyal, and some part of me never truly believes in goodbye.  Some might call it stupid or naive, but there's not much that could ever shake my belief in love, loyalty, and friendship.  The Beatles put it this way: "You say goodbye, and I say hello." For better or for worse, I will always be the girl that says "hello."