musing

Biking on Passyunk: I can hear another biker behind me. I don’t turn around. This person is gaining on me fast but for blocks has been unable to pass me. I don’t want this asshole in front of me for no apparent reason so I start pedaling faster, faster than I typically go and frankly I’m already late for work so I am not one to easily hurry on her bike. I’m going faster and faster and being more aggressive at stop signs and weaving all over the road to avoid the endless number of gorge-like potholes, camouflaged dips, and unnatural warps that plague our Philadelphian streets.

As I struggle for breath and avoid my fifth pedestrian realize that I don’t care if this person passes me in the least and really this fictional competition was fucking-up what should be a leisurely Sunday ride. I let him pass. It got me thinking about motivation and how maybe I need to prove something to someone else in order to make it seem worthwhile and worth striving for. This self-realization disturbed me.

When I thought of it another way though, I realized that I don’t want to spend my life trying to be better than someone else… sweating and palpitating and endangering people on the streets. I like taking my time. I like enjoying my ride. My next thought, naturally, was of death. It must be my belief that there is nothing after death, that once one’s body can no longer function everything just goes black. There is no heaven or hell, just THE END. I am intrigued by the idea that we weigh 28 grams less after death and the origin and reason behind that, but logically that “energy” would not transform in a way that one would be cognizant of. Isn’t that what makes life? I must truly believe this because my philosophy thus-far has been to live an unhurried lifestyle, few early mornings, 15 min bike commute, and less than 40 hour workweek.

I cook. I eat. I enjoy live music. I go to the cinema. I scour the internet for free items. I garden. I knit. I go to museums. I travel. I bike. I dance. I drink. I dress-up. I talk with good people. I see my family. I fuck. I go to sports games. I read papers. I take pictures.

These things are important to me. Not really owning a house or a new car or an endless amount of shoes. It’s true, those things would be nice, but the time I would give-up to get them is very precious to me.