It’s a rather pointed mantra of mine. On its head, it means that if you’re going to engage me, you need to do it completely. It means state your business. It means I’ll wait, but not forever. It’s one part invitation, one part warning, and wholly a wild and redneck carpe diem.
Usually, this little line helps me filter people for authenticity because, being so attuned to everyone, everywhere, all at once in any space that I’m in, I just don’t have the energy to spare anything less than clear intent. It’s not personal (usually), it’s just my status.
Today, though, it’s looking at me, and it’s saying
“You’ve got people coming quietly to you, showing you they see you, and are willing to help make things happen for you. Do you have a minute?”
As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve had a couple of readers offer support in my getting to The Big Rub in Sedalia, MO this coming weekend. Today, an organizer themselves extended a helping hand. This race is 63-miles and just an hour down the interstate. It’s a no-brainer for many of the gravel-centered around here.
For me, it takes a lot of brain, thanks. And a lot of other shit I’m in short supply of. But I’ve got time, and I’ve got… spite? I am forever teetering on the edge of not accepting too little, and not pushing too hard.
My van has to stay parked for now so I’m aiming to ride the 70 miles to Sedalia on Friday where I have accommodations thanks to a member of the Sedalia Lions Club. On Saturday, I’ll (allegedly) race and head back home in one 140-mile shot.
On the contrary, I went out for a coffee ride today and still couldn’t wake up. My quads actually twitched when I felt a little pressed in a roundabout at mile 1.5.
Not to be redundant, but I’m just not all here, even though I desperately want to be.
Around mile 16, I had just turned back home when Spotify crashed. I looked up from my phone in just a small tizzy and eyed an oncoming rider. I recognized the kit, and right as I was trying to place them, they lifted a hand from the bars and blew me a kiss with a wide smile. It didn’t land like a flirt. I will firmly say it wasn’t one. It felt more like
a salute to a passing ship,
from somebody I have never known.
And like a flipped switch, I woke up. I had to manually enforce keeping the energy down while thinking “what did that mean?” with a smile I hadn’t felt in a while.
But I already felt what it meant.
And before you convince yourself I’ve been self-medicating too close to the sun, I’ve actually just been possessed by the spirits of burnout and belief that I’m mostly invisible, and that gesture broke the spell again.
Because as it applies to me, stepping up is automatic and stepping off is forced by circumstance. I do not yield, but I also miss the sign that said I was supposed to and end up in a weird intersection with a crowbar that I’ve mistaken for a sword.
But people see me out here swinging, and then they hand me back the real thing.
Quietly. Intentionally.
So, bearing in mind that I am in a very fragile place right now and could still just not be ready, I’m stepping up on Friday the way I want to. I’m not going to survive for a weekend, I’m going to sail.
And as this Fog on the Harbor briefly lifts, I’m going to watch for you on the shore.
You can look forward to my report on Sunday.~
I will the machine. 