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The Olympics have been pretty inspiring, haven’t they? All that jumping, running, swinging and vaulting… especially the vaulting. I’m tellin’ ya; I break into a sweat just thinkin’ about all the training these incredible athletes put into their respective specialties.

However, the gymnastics reminded of a memorable vault I did once.

Well, it’s not quite the same kind of vault you see Olympic gymnasts perform. No, this is where you sorta leap over an obstacle, usually a wall or something, while using one or both arms as a pivot to lever yourself over. It’s an easy way to cross a relatively low barrier without having to clamber over it. One leap and you’re done - easy!

‘Course, it’s usually a good idea to know what’s on the other side of the wall…

“Go Play on the Freeway”

In the city of Houston, Loop 610 is the inner loop around town. It’s been there so long most people don’t think about it, but I remember when it was being built. In fact, when I was a kid, my friends and I used to ride our bikes on it.

(Remember all those jokes about going out and playing on the freeway? Well, we used to do that all the time. At least, until they ruined everything and opened it up to traffic. Ah well.)

Anyway, near my house the construction crews were in the process of building an overpass, and needless to say were huge piles of dirt everywhere. Although they hadn’t gotten around to the actual over-the-road part yet, some of the concrete retaining wall had already been built.

One fine day (this was during the summertime school break, so we had lots of time to explore) my friends and I strolled across the feeder road to see what was new. Like any typical road construction project, there was always plenty of cool stuff three young criminally insane hooligans teenage boys could find to keep themselves entertained.

As we approached the construction site, though, I noticed the new aforementioned retaining wall. From where we stood, we could see there was still some dirt piled up against it. In the meantime, on the other side (where the eventual concrete surface would go) dump trucks had obviously been busy building up the dirt foundation.

Charge of the Light Brigade

Since I was still, you know, young and full of energy back then (ah, sweet bird of youth! *sigh*), I naturally said to myself, “Self, I think I’ll charge up there and vault that wall!” (As you are no doubt aware, one drawback to the ol’ sweet bird of youth is a somewhat distressing inability to, er, “think things through”, if you get my meanin’.)

Anyway, I left my friends in the dust as I charged up to the wall like the Allies storming Normandy Beach. It was a sight to behold, I’ll tell ya! In the annals of history, never was there a more perfectly executed and Olympian-quality vault ever performed. It was a thing of grace and beauty, and a joy to the eye of the beholder.

I’d already determined this was to be the ultimate of all vaults, the one-hander. My eyes had already zeroed in on the proper spot to place my hand. I scanned the ground for proper foot placement, and angled my body such that I could smoothly execute the leap as I arrived at the wall. It was an amazing moment; I could literally hear the crowd roar (score: 9.5, 9.6, 9.8 - and an 8.3 from the East German judge) as my feet left the ground and let the laws of physics and gravity took over.

The Pit of Despair

Unfortunately, I had concentrated so much on the mechanics of the thing, I… well, uh, er… sorta forgot to check out what was on the other side of the wall. As luck would have it, there was nothin’ but a big hole on the other side, about 10 feet deep and maybe 15 feet wide, gaping like a giant yawning Pit of Despair.

I’m sure you’ll have no trouble picturing my face as I went from triumph to panic. Suddenly it was like being in one of those martial arts flicks, where time itself momentarily slowed to a crawl and everything is in slow motion. I quickly searched for options, but unfortunately there was only one thing I could think of: to quickly review my accumulated knowledge of the fine art of levitation.

My hand, initially just resting on the wall, immediately attempted to grip the top in a panic as I instantly brought the other hand around to do the same. Unfortunately, the wall was too wide to grip, so needless to say that didn’t work out too well. I did manage to touch the wall with my other arm on the way over, but the only reward for that effort was a largish scrape.

In the meantime, my attempt at levitation met with pretty much zero success and thus began the long, slow motion plummet to the bottom of the Pit. About the only thing I had time for was a quick scan of the landing zone: mud, a few pieces of discarded wood, and about a foot of water. I utilized the remaining 237 milliseconds or so to position my feet as best I could and -

- sound of splat -

Well, it wasn’t pretty, I’ll tell ya. When it was over, I spent the first few seconds reviewing the State of Affairs.

To my amazement, there was nothing broken, twisted or sprained; I’d landed perfectly upright and on my feet (I “stuck” the landing so beautifully it would have garnered at least a 9.692 score). That was a bit of luck because those few milliseconds of awareness had allowed me to just miss impalement on a rather sharp piece of wood. (Obviously, my team of guardian angels was working overtime that day.)

In the meantime I was standing well over knee-deep in water, my feet buried in the mud at the bottom of the depression. Added to that was the fact that I was almost completely covered in mud from the backsplash (particularly in the, er, nether regions, if you know what I mean).

Naturally, my sympathetic and supportive friends were doubled over on the ground, they were laughing so hard. So, no sympathy there. After a few seconds of supreme effort, I managed to pull my feet out of the mud (insert loud sucking sound here). After a few minutes, I somehow managed to climb out of the Pit, caked with mud and dripping wet.

Looking Before Leaping

Now, before you promptly respond with, “Hey, I would never do something goofy like that!” check out this story I ran across the other day: “… and this is me on Facebook”. Don’t worry; I’ll wait.

It’s amazing how many time folks do things like this without thinking things through, isn’t it? Like the Olympic basketball team that had themselves photographed while pulling their eyes into a slant, or Bill Clinton “not having sex with that woman”, you’d think stuff like this would hardly ever happen.

Alas, the human condition is chock full of evidence the other way, I’m afraid. All I can say is, I hope ya don’t have to experience life’s lessons more than once! It’s OK to make a mistake; hey, we all do it. No, it’s when you have to repeat a lesson that’ll kick ya in the, er, regional areas, if you know what I mean.

OK; rather than bore you with a list of obvious points about the relative, er, pitfalls of leaping before looking, let’s turn this conversation over to you guys.

When was the last time you leaped without looking first? How’d that work out for ya? Are you the type that does it on purpose? Are there positive merits of leaping without looking first? Would you care to share your own experiences here? Or, write a post about your experience and link it back here.

We’d love to hear ‘em! Hey, we’re all friends here…

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Bougainvillea blooms

I know that probably seems like an odd title considering the photo here is of a flaming pink bougainvillea. But - uh, bear with me a moment, will ya? I gotta get some things off my chest.

(Pause while your intrepid and generally unflappable editor jumps up screaming, slapping at his chest repeatedly as he attempts to get a couple of bugs off his chest that somehow dropped down from a clear blue sky.)

Eek! Yuck! Whew! I think I’m alright now. Yuck, I hate icky bugs, especially when they land on you unannounced and all…

Don’t worry folks; I’ll be OK. Today I’m braving the elements once again to share another lesson I picked up from our backyard garden.

The Reluctant Bougainvillea

You folks remember Phil and Queenie, right? Well, we also have this hanging plant, a bougainvillea (wow, is that ever hard to spell!) that makes me nuts. (OK; maybe it’s more accurate to say it helps keep me nuts.) I simply can’t figure it out.

See, when we first saw it at the nursery (does it seem strange to you like it does me that the same word is used to describe a place for both newly born humans and for newly grown plants? What are they, Triffids?) it was completely covered in lovely blooms such as the one you see here. It was, to say the least, quite impressive.

Since we wanted something that would provide a splash of color and handle full sun with ease, well, a hanging basket of bougainvillea seemed to be just the ticket. We brought it home (no name yet, but we’re working on it) and hung it on a pole in our garden.

Apparently, though, our back yard must be the equivalent of a radioactive waste to bougainvilleas, because within two weeks, it was nothing but a bunch of sticks. I’m serious; every single bloom and leaf was on the ground below. Sheesh! Was it something I said?

I kept watering it every now and then as instructed (according to the nurseryman, you’re supposed to let it dry out, then flood it), just to see what would happen, and sure enough, a couple of the branches started sprouting a few new leaves again (phew; so much for the radioactive theory). After a few more weeks, it was partially re-leafed (is that a word?), then lo and behold, the bunch of blooms pictured here appeared.

Since then I’ve been waiting see if it comes completely back, but so far, it’s still only a shadow of its former self (see the photo below for its current state). We’ve had other plants that looked like they were going to kick the bucket, so to speak, but they came back even bigger and better than ever, so I guess we’ll just have to see.

Hey, if nothing happens, well, there’s plenty of other things I can try, like repotting it, relocating it to a different spot, assorted fertilizers, and as a last resort, maybe I can plant it next to Phil and Queenie and see if they give it some inspiration. You never know just which technique will be the one that does the trick.

Having just recently wrapped up our Metaphors for Life groupwrite project, it occurred to me this bougainvillea might just be a metaphor for something. Now, if I could just put my finger on exactly what it’s a metaphor, er, for… ah! How about this:

Are You Resilient?

Bougainvillea basket

So I guess the Question of the Day is: Are you resilient?

By that I mean if you were to experience a setback - say, you just found out a project you’ve poured yourself into didn’t get funded, or perhaps you’ve suffered a sudden and unexpected disappointment in a relationship - well, are you the kind of person who can “come back” easily?

It’s not an idle question. As we all know by now, life doesn’t always work out the way we want (please ignore the gasps of surprise from behind you). For that matter, I would venture to say a significant percentage of things we want to happen - usually, um, don’t.

So what’s a body to do? Well, if you’re like me (and once again, sincere condolences if you are), or even like our sad little bougainvillea, there are a few things you can try.

Repotting - OK, so your feet aren’t firmly rooted in soil. Still, you’re probably rooted to something (like that pet project I mentioned earlier). But if you’ve tried everything you know to do, and it just isn’t quite gelling, well, maybe it’s time to, you know, move on to a new one. You gave it your best shot, but it just didn’t work out. No problem; use what you learned to build a brand new opportunity. You might just come back stronger.

Relocating - Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve kinda moved about this ol’ planet a few times. (In fact, as it says up there in the About Yours Truly page, Mrs. MZM and I have moved well over 60 times during the course of our 26-year marriage.) There’s just something exciting about moving to a new place, isn’t there? New scenery, new people, (maybe) new job, new house, new - well you probably know what it’s like. One thing relocating always does is stimulate our interest levels. It’s sorta like restoring the “buzz”, if you get my drift.

Fertilizer - Sometimes the problem with plants is they’re missing an essential element or two in their diet. And likewise, sometimes we’re only missing a couple of elements to really make our ideas click, you know? I was getting frustrated while building a business case the other day, but when a co-worker made a simple suggestion - voila! (which is a French word for well I’ll be doggoned!) it made all the difference! Like our sticken plant, all I needed was one little element to move my case from merely OK - to great!

Inspiration - No matter how creative you happen to be, don’cha find there’s times you just can’t seem to get the ol’ Muse stirred up and earning their keep? I know I do. That’s where it helps to take my eyes off the Center of the Universe (that’s a euphemism for, um, “me”) and look around. Hey, there’s all kinds of inspiration out there, you know? What’s more; there’s an easy-peezy, sure-fire, no-fail method of tapping into it, too: All you need is a change of focus. Yup; if you’ll just begin to notice all the amazing stuff going on around you, well trust me Bubba; there simply aren’t enough books to contain it all!

So What About You?

All right, by now you’re somewhat better educated on the care and feeding of a bougainvillea spectabilis. But the real question is, are you better able to handle setbacks? What about it? Have you experienced a setback recently, and what did you do to manage it (after, you know, throwing a hissy-fit and jumping up and down)?

Take a moment to share your experience here. Add more advice if you have some. Hey, we’re listening!

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Other posts from the backyard garden series: Phil and Queenie: A Love Story

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Photo credits:

Bougainvillea blooms, by Robert Hruzek

Bougainvillea basket, by Robert Hruzek

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You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Passing Ferry, by cmiked

Question: Can strict limitations enable interesting opportunities? We often think of limitations in terms of negatives, right? They keep things from happening, prevent advancement, and otherwise minimize possibilities. But can limitations provide opportunities that were otherwise not possible?

Head for the Beach!

When I was a kid, the best holidays I can remember were the times we went to Galveston Island. Back then, as far as I was concerned a day at the beach was pretty much the perfect holiday.

I mean, what’s not to like? You had a great big ocean (well, in our case it was the Gulf of Mexico, but it looked like an ocean to me), lots of sparkly sand to squish between my toes, zillions of teeny tiny crabs that absolutely hated being picked up, an occasional dead jellyfish or two - not to mention seashells galore - absolutely none of which were available at our oh-so-humdrum house back in Houston.

Most times, we spent our holiday at Stewart Beach, on the ocean side of the eastern end of the island. It’s easy to find; you just follow Interstate 45 South from the mainland over the causeway into the city of Galveston, where it becomes Broadway. Follow that until it hits Seawall Boulevard, and voila! you’re there!

You had to be ready for crowds, though; on particularly nice days, about a bazillion other people had the same idea. But hey, that never bothered me; more people meant more interesting, you know, stuff going on (besides, I didn’t have to, you know, drive). And you know how kids thrive on activity, right? (Not to mention, er, hot dogs, popsicles and Kool-Aide, but that’s neither here nor there.)

To secure a decent spot, we’d usually leave fairly early in the morning. Then, after a hard day of having fun, sometime around late afternoon we’d pack up and head back home. But before hitting the highway, we always - without fail - made a side trip to ride the ferry.

The Galveston - Bolivar Ferry

I don’t know what it is about ferries. They’re just… I don’t know, different. It’s an experience so totally unlike any other form of water transportation, such as traveling on a cruise ship, motorboat, or tramp freighter. (Gee, is there such a thing as a respectable freighter or must they all be tramps? Never mind.)

Now bear in mind, riding the ferry wasn’t something we had to do. The route we took to and from Houston didn’t go that way. No, it was more like a “because it was there” sortof thing. One simply didn’t go to Galveston without riding the ferry, don’cha know. It’s not even that long of a ride, either: from the northeastern end of the island across the Houston Ship Channel entrance to a narrow spit of land called Bolivar Peninsula, it was an actual distance of less than three miles.

There’s a lot of large ship traffic that passes through on its way to the Port of Houston, though, so at the very least there were usually interesting ships to watch for. It was always fun to imagine what exotic lands they might have come from (Africa? Japan? New Jersey?) and what fabulous cargoes they carried (gold? jewels? rendered whale blubber?)

It was the same ritual every time: Wait in line until the ferry docked, wait for the cars to get off, load up more cars in the other direction, then once we were all packed in like big metal sardines, off we went! It only took about 20 minutes to cross.

As soon as we got off, we’d go down the road about a half-mile, then turn around and get back in line. If there wasn’t too much traffic waiting, we could sometimes get back on the same boat for its return trip. Even if we had to wait for the next boat, though, the whole adventure never added more than an hour or so to our day before heading back home.

A seagull for every post!

One of the things I remember clearly was how stable the crossing was. I mean, once we left the dock, it was pretty much rock solid (other than a distant vibration from the engines, but that didn’t count). Rarely were the waves big enough to (if you’ll pardon the expression) rock the boat.

Most fascinating was how supernaturally smooth the departure was. At first, the ferry moved so slowly it was easy to pretend the land itself was moving away, not us. On either side, large bundles of worn piles, nearly black from weather and age, provided a fine roost for the inevitable legions of seagulls (only one per pile, please!). Their raucous chorus celebrated our departure.

Most of the gulls took wing as we got under way, following us across the water. Diving like missiles for small fish kicked up by our wake, the rest flew in complex and ever-changing traffic patterns just off the stern, waiting for tidbits tossed into the air by passengers. Feeding the gulls was as much a part of the ferry ritual as the ride itself. We always had the remains of the day’s loaf of sandwich bread ready to toss at them.

Sometimes, if you stretched up as high as you could and held your hand just right, an enterprising gull would separate himself from the traffic pattern and come close enough to snatch the bread from your fingers. I’m tellin’ ya; that was a magical moment!

Then there was the inevitable “waving at the other ferry” routine as we passed the other ferry on its return trip. Without fail, folks would line up on that side of the boat and wave like mad. It was silly, sure; but like I said, it was sortof like a, you know, rule.

The Value of Routine

Don't bite the hand that feeds..., by KM&G-Morris

When you think about it, driving a ferry seems like an almost certain recipe for boredom, don’t you think? I mean, it runs the same course back and forth, over and over, day after day, week after - well, you get the idea. Doesn’t seem like much creativity would be allowed in a job like that, does it? Yep; it was a severely restricted regime, to say the least. No variation allowed. Very narrow limits of performance. Routine.

I’ve often wondered if the various Captains ever got tired of it, day in and day out. What would happen if one day the Captain suddenly made a hard turn to starboard (that’s to the right for you landlubber folk) and set off for a distant adventure?

But here’s the thing. That routine - going back and forth - made so much more possible. Here’s a couple of random thoughts illustrating what I mean:

Connection - The ferry provided a connection between two isolated communities (well, you know what I mean, I hope). What used to be a many-mile trip turned into a simple 15-minute commute. The truth is, all kinds of interesting things can happen when you eliminate barriers between folks.

Separation - Even though the communities are linked, because of the ferry both sides can still retain their own distinctive characters. On the peninsula side, it’s quiet, peaceful, tranquil - but on the Island side, there’s activity, excitement, and it’s filled with people to see (not to mention things to do). Though short in actual distance, it’s enough to provide an effective separation, allowing the two sides to preserve their own distinct and unique cultures.

Opportunity - People over on the peninsula no longer had to drive a zillion miles to get to the things Galveston Island had to offer. Likewise, those on the island had the chance to experience a different atmosphere. Both sides benefit when they take advantage of the opportunity to see how the other side lives. In a similar way, the flow of people allowed ideas to spread from one side to the other and back again. Everybody benefits from that.

Other Stuff - Plenty of other, well, peripheral things become possible because of the existence of this ferry line. For instance, compared to a plain ol’ ordinary bridge crossing, a ferry ride was an event. Not only that, but the event itself made possible lots of other, secondary events, too. The chance to wave madly at total strangers on the other ferry as it passed - coaxing a seagull to pluck food right from your fingers - a fresh sea breeze with its distinctive salt-water smell, blowing in your face and ruining your hair - the sun’s afternoon rays sparkling upon the water - the seagulls’ plaintive cries - the list goes on and on.

Sometimes, some of life’s simplest pleasures come about because of enforced limitations. Sometimes, they can help you see.

Your Turn Now

So are there any routines in your own life that may be, shall we say, underappreciated? I’ll bet you can think of at least a few. But here’s the big question: Which of those limitations actually enable you to do more or maybe greater things? Care to share ‘em with the rest of us? The floor is yours…

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Well, whaddaya know? After my last guest appearance at JJL, they let me keep my membership card! Who knew they would be so easily fooled into thinking I was, you know, somebody? Promise you won’t tell, OK?

Anyway, this month’s theme is the number 8, which at first thought seemed kinda inconsequential to me. I mean, c’mon; what could be so interesting about the number 8?

But after I gave it a bit of thought (sound of gears grinding) and considerable research (which is code for “I Googled it”), wow, was I surprised! Pop on over and read “The L8, Gr8 Number 8” and see what you think. What the heck; go ahead and leave a comment, while you’re at it.

[Note from the proprietor: As soon as my post gets published over at JJL today, I'll post the link here. Should be any minute now...]

[Further note: For some reason, I think I caused a slight snafu on the date; my brilliant and ground-breaking post is due to be published at JJL on the 14th. So hang in there, folks, it's comin' soon! I'll pop the specific link in as soon as I can.]

In the meantime, I think I’m gonna follow Brad Shorr’s example and relax the rest of the day. But, uh, don’t forget to come back!

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Photo: Sleeping Cat, by zamario

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You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

Oh, man! In the list of WILF entries (the previous post), the entry titled “Life As a Shared Adventure” was mistakenly attibuted to Jeanne Dininni. It was actually written by Jean Browman, and has since been corrected. Profuse apologies, ladies! As you can see, I’m busy washing my brain, so everything should be back to normal real soon now.

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

A big ol’ Texas-sized Waa-hoo (sound of big ol’ Texas sized Waa-hoo) for all the fantastic authors who joined us for this month’s group writing project: What I Learned From Life Metaphors! Thanks again for sharing your stories (and more importantly, your lessons learned) with the rest of us!

This month we had a total of 19 entries (sound of crowd cheering enthusiastically). Way to go, folks! I appreciate each and every one of ‘em.

You’ll find the entire list below (in no particular order, other than it’s how I found ‘em). Do yourself a favor and check ‘em all out. Heck, drop by the authors’ blogs and start a conversation, why don’cha!

• Life is a “House” Episode, by Brad Shorr at Word Sell, Inc.
• Life is Chaos, by Ulla Hennig at Ulla Hennigs Weblog
• This Mystery Called Life, by Jean Browman at Cheerful Monk
• Life is Like a Moon Bounce, by Karen Swim at Words for Hire
• Meta-metaphor, by Chip Sterling at Chip’s Quips
• Life is: A Group Writing Project, by Joanna Young at Confident Writing
• Life is a Piece of Cake, by Lillie Amman at A Writer’s Words, An Editor’s Eye
• Mission Impossible, Life Changing Metaphors, by Grant Stone at StoneWriter
• Life is not (a) fair. It is a Circus, by Luke Gedeon at Luke Gedeon
• Life is Like a Game of Golf, by Jackie Cameron at Jackie Cameron
• A Day for 8: Life is Like a Game You Cannot Lose, by Rosa Say of Talking Story With Say Leadership Coaching
• Life is a Garden Maze, by Glenda Hyatt Watson, at Do It Myself Blog
• Life is like a stop/start journey, by Karin H. at Stop/Start
• If only your life is a Wordpress project, by Robert Henru at Reason-4-Smile
• Life As a Shared Adventure, by Jean Browman at Stress to Power
  
• Life is a Stinky City, by Luke Gedeon at Luke Gedeon
• Life is Like a Float Trip on a River that a Superhero Won’t Save You From, by Sam at Samwrites2’s Weblog

And last, but hopefully not least, here’s three entries from yours truly (what can I say? I was inspired again!):

• Life is a Game of Dodge Ball, by Robert Hruzek at Middle Zone Musings
• My Darlin’ Clementine, by Robert Hruzek at Middle Zone Musings
• Motorcycle Mechanic on Wheels, by Robert Hruzek at Middle Zone Musings

Y’all give yourselves a big hand, my friends! And as usual, a big tip o’ the hat to ya! Be sure to tune in for the next exciting edition of What I Learned From… And be warned; it’s only a couple of weeks away!

So, what’s the subject going to be, you ask? Well… that would be telling. But I can assure you - it’s gonna be a good’un!

You know, it would just be absolutely finer than a frogs hair if you would subscribe to my RSS feed!

The Motorcycle Mechanic

Could a motorcycle be a metaphor for life? Well… I suppose we could make a case for it. Why don’t you be the judge?

Ah, Sweet Bird of Youth…

OK, believe it or not, I was young once. Yup, as you can tell from this old photo (I was 18 at the time, and already a handsome figure of a man, no?) I used to own a motorcycle. In fact, over several years I had three different ones.

My first one was a rather asthmatic old used Honda 90 that barely had enough power to get me from point A to point B. But hey, it was transportation, and thus my ticket to freedom… sortof. (I mean, I still had school, a job, and lived at home, but you get the idea, right?)

Unfortunately, that particular mode of transportation met with an untimely demise one night (the other driver’s claim, “I never even saw him, Officer!”, while likely true, provided no solace as I lay in the hospital for a couple of days) and I ended up with a somewhat “sensitive” left knee for the rest of my natural life. (Good thing I wasn’t thinking of becoming a famous football Quarterback or something. But I’m over it now.)

Bigger Bike, More Power

Anyway, with the insurance money (and in a move my mother never quite forgave), I went out and bought this beauty from a friend of mine, a Suzuki 500 with, as you can see, bright magenta gas tank and side covers. Now that was a motorcycle! It had a lot more horsepower (insert manly grunts here) and was actually much safer in traffic since, unlike the old one, I now had the extra power needed to actually evade oncoming traffic.

Be that as it may, however, because one of the things I remember most from this bike was my many attempts to play motorcycle mechanic. Now, you may remember from other posts, particularly my adventures with Yolanda (that came along later), that I have a somewhat, er, spotty talent when it comes to mechanical aptitude. (Maybe that’s why I became a Mechanical Engineer?)

As you can see from the photo, there are assorted tools scattered about the ground (especially the hammer - you simply can’t work on anything mechanical without one!), and I’m busily reading up on the “How to Completely Destroy Your Motorcycle” handbook as I skillfully prepare to do open-crankcase surgery on the recalcitrant beastie.

On the lower right side of the photo you can just see the tail end of my faithful wiener dog, Fritz, as he walks disgustedly away, no doubt shaking his head sadly at the travesty that’s about to ensue. I’m grateful he didn’t express his true feelings and just do his, er, doggy thing on the wheel, there. But I digress.

Anyway, I finally managed to repair whatever ailed the machine that day (sadly, one of the few times I could truthfully say that), and once more reigned victorious in the Man vs. Machine struggle for world domination. At least, until the next time.

In the meantime, I was once again footloose and fancy free. Or something.

Life is a Motorcycle

OK, admittedly I may be reaching for some of these, but bear with me if you will…

• Freedom - Like I said, once I had my own set of wheels, I was no longer tied to the parental units’ availability to drive me around. And there were plenty of places I could go. Likewise, one thing you can say about life; there are pretty much an infinity of choices we can make regarding careers, entertainment, knowledge, and friends, etc. And believe me, if it’s possible, then it’s likely someone has either done it, or at least tried it! Despite that fact, there are still nearly an inexhaustible supply of new things out there. All you need is the freedom to get out there and find ‘em.
• Maintenance - On occasion, the ol’ two-wheeler developed mechanical problems that required some attention. Life, on occasion, does too, doesn’t it? Sometimes, you just need to stop and take stock of the challenges, maybe consult the instruction booklet, or even consult qualified help to get back on the road again. Hey, it happens to the best of us, whether you realize it or not. Everyone needs a little help every now and then. No worries; get the issue dealt with, then hit the road again!
• Power - I mentioned the new bike had a lot more power than the old one. Well, one problem the old one had was it was so old and pokey it could barely move me around. I mentioned the accident - I could possibly have avoided it if I’d had a bit more power to draw on when I needed it. Hey, maybe not - but we’ll never know now, will we? You can power up your life, too, if you’ll work to make it larger than it currently is. By that I mean, look around, interact as much as possible, make as many network connections as you can. It will empower you for later life in ways you won’t believe!
• Speed - One of the benefits the extra power mentioned above gave the new bike was that I had so much more speed available when I needed it. (OK, also when I wanted it too, but let’s not, um, go there…) That actually enabled me to expand my operating range. I could easily reach hiway cruising speeds, and even drove it to San Antonio (about a 400 mile round trip). When your life has more power, you can handle more speed, too. As you grow, you’ll develop even more abilities that simply weren’t available when you were younger. Celebrate it!
• Open - The thing I absolutely loved about riding a motorcycle is the feeling of openness you got - you had an almost unimpeded view in any direction. The feeling of the wind blowing on your body, the air rushing by, the bugs in your teeth - it all contributed to the experience of riding, something completely different from driving a car. Life, when it’s experienced to the full, will be like that too.

OK, so there’s my thoughts on why Life is a Motorcycle. What about yours? Any other ideas you might have to round this soul train train wreck train of thought? The comment box is open!

(By the way, as you may have guessed, the post title is a pun. What I’m sayin’, see, is that I’m a motorcycle mechanic, er, on wheels. Get it? Huh? Oh, never mind.)

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Photo: The Motorcycle Mechanic, by Robert Hruzek

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[As you may have no doubt surmised, this is yet another entry (what can I say? I was inspired!) for this month's What I Learned From... groupwrite project. The topic is Metaphors for Life. If you've got one then by all means click on the link, read all about it, then write your own! But you'd better hurry; the project is only open for entries through Sunday night at midnight. I'll leave the light on.]

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