Like Riding a Bike

For years I've been dreaming about a new bicycle, specifically a dutch style cruiser, with multiple gears, hand brakes and rear rack, in the most delicious shade of blue or green complete with basket and bell. I pictured myself riding through the Village, wearing a floral skirt, hair in a braid, looking jaunty and chic, stopping to buy flowers, wine, bread and cheese, waving to my neighbors while winding my way through the streets. Obviously I put a lot of thought into this dream.

My bicycle obsession can be traced back to my childhood. When I was in 4th grade I found myself in desperate need of a new bike. My parents, having just been through one of the hardest periods of their lives and needing to feed and clothe a family of 4, couldn't afford such frivolous items. Instead they found an old secondhand bike for me. And when I say old, I don't mean a couple of years old, I mean a couple of decades old. While I was thrilled to have wheels, and the freedom that came with them, I was horrified at this antique hunk of steel that I was forced to ride while all of my friends had shiny new bikes or if not new, at least they had been manufactured sometime after their birth. This being a time before I had come to appreciate the value of vintage, that bike felt like a burden. I'm not sure if I ever complained to my parents about that bike. I hope not. I hope I had the good sense to realize that they had done the best they could. I hope I didn't make them feel bad for something they couldn't help. My first bike, was a lesson in independence, humility and embarrassment and while I dreamed of having different and better I certainly never felt entitled to have different or better. Honestly, I was thankful to have anything at all.

I am positive that experience, one of many similar experiences, improved my character and I'm sure that it is at least partially responsible for my current ability to be patient and wait for what I want and to be deep down to my core, grateful when I do get it. So imagine my joy, after all of these years, at the tender age of 45, finding myself the proud owner of the beautiful minty dutch bicycle of my dreams, gifted to me for Mother's Day by the man who is in the business of making my dreams come true. I have discovered that hopping on her and heading over to a friends house for the afternoon feels almost identical to the way it did when I was child, only now I'm much more unsure and wobbly and the embarrassment has been replaced with glee!