Rockstar

The view from my apartment isn't that special. It doesn't include those famous San Francisco landmarks, like the Golden Gate Bridge, or Alcatraz, or Coit Tower. However, it does provide a cascading sweep of the colorful houses that flank Russian Hill. And when the sun is shining on a Saturday morning, I awake to my glorious city beckoning me outside.

So early this afternoon, after a little laziness and a little more coffee, I got out of my apartment and onto my bike. Down the street towards The Bay, and then on towards The Bridge, I climbed and I cruised. Out of the city and into Marin...

I have lived here for over a year and a half, now. And I have been inspired by the beauty of San Francisco since the first evening on which I drove into the city. But the city was different, today.

Or maybe I was different today. I struggled less climbing Marin Headlands. And I paniced less descending down the hills. I didn't tip over at the stop lights, either. I powered through the entire ride, feeling strong and confident. And it felt great.

Back home, 30 miles and a couple hours later, I looked at the note on my desk my roommate left for me after our last ride a couple of weeks ago. I didn't believe it at the time, but after today's ride, I am starting to believe.

"I'm very proud of you for being such a rock star in all of your new adventures. It's not easy to push beyond your comfort zone - most people never do - and you're killing it."

Thanks, AER, for your continued support. I couldn't imagine doing this without you.

A Baker's Dozen

I was quiet today. Quiet not because I had nothing to say, but because I had so many things to say without knowing where I should begin.

Trying to navigate actions, feelings, and expectations, I make an effort to explain how I see it. Yet eloquence and cogency elude my attempts at conveying how I feel. And I keep fucking up. I don't know where to begin, nor do I know that whenever I (finally) stop talking I will be fully understood.

However, I do find solace in this closeness. And this afternoon, I figured it out. I realized, that everything - in all its elusiveness - really does boil down to the same explanation to which we've both turned for comfort since the beginning.

"This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, 'Doc, uh, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken.' And the doctor says, 'Well, why don't you turn him in?' And the guy says, 'I would, but I need the eggs.' Well, I guess that's pretty much how I feel about relationships. You know, they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd, but, I guess we keep goin' through it because most of us need the eggs."

Despite ups, downs, outs, backs, flatlines, and tornadoes. I crack and you crack and yet we still find a way to put things back together. Yes, it's totally irrational and crazy and absurd. But it's also reassuring and comfortable and frankly, wonderful.

More than just a good egg... a baker's dozen.

The View

It was a beautiful winter day in San Francisco. So beautiful, in fact, that I felt it was absolutely imperative that I leave my office early. And I thought I should don some spandex. And some funky shoes with the word, "Shimano" written on them that make walking ridiculously hard. So hard, that the only thing left to do is hop on a bike, and ride.

Except it's not that easy.

Because hopping on a bike involves getting onto the seat. And while I love to brag that my legs are long for a girl of 5'3", my bike seat is high. I mean, you're not supposed to be able to touch the ground when you're sitting on the seat of your bike. And that makes getting started on your bike ride a little difficult.

What also makes it difficult are your pedals. Maybe the pedals aren't difficult. But the combination of the pedals and the funky shoes are effing CRAZY. No, I can't always clip in. Yes, I tipped over a time or two. And hell no, my bike is NOT scratched. Although my knee is a little bruised. You've seen My Bike! Do you really think I'm going to let something happen to her?

Despite the frustration - of stopping - of going - of uphills - of downhills - of clipping in - of clipping out - I persevered. Because cycling is pretty sweet. And I I fucking LOVE my bike!!! And because San Francisco is the perfect place to ride. Across the Golden Gate Bridge and down into Sausalito. Then back up out of Sausalito. And back across the Golden Gate Bridge. Peering out to my right at the sun setting over the seemingly endless Pacific Ocean.

A view so invigorating you can forget the frustration of your first REAL bike ride.

By the end of my ride, my friend JB (who was so patient with me!) said I was starting to fall a little more gracefully. Starting to start a little less stutteringly. And of course, he said I was kicking his ass up the hills. So maybe these lyrics are a little too extreme, but as I sat there, perched over my handlebars, huffing and puffing from both exhaustion and delight, I sang to myself...

"As life gets longer, awful feels softer.
Well it feels pretty soft to me.
And if it takes shit to make bliss,
well I feel pretty blissfully."

"The View" by Modest Mouse, from the Album, Good New for People Who Like Bad News.