It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged here, and in the meantime, life has changed and changed, and then changed again. Sometimes suddenly, sometimes too gradually for comfort, but there it goes again, like seasons shifting.
Some of these changes are things I’ve pushed for, through hard work, hard dreaming, or both. At least one of them will involve a change of blog. I’m not sure whether I’ll keep this one active and do two blogs, or whether the new project will eclipse this one (poor Girlwich, first Twitter ate you, and now the newbie might, too).
Either way, I hope to be writing more, be it here or there. The new one (just to give you a hint) will be about bicycles. Try to conceal your surprise.
The bicycle thing crept up on me, you know. It was years in the making, but there was a moment of discovery, too. One day, riding home through Prospect Park in the good-old/bad-old Brooklyn days, it occurred me that bicycles had taken root somewhere big, right in my chest, as if a giant bird had laid a great glowing egg in the heart cavity.
It had been growing there for quite some time, but it was only in that moment that I realized what it meant, and how central it had become. I’d thought that I rode peripherally – that I rode because my boyfriend (ex, by that time) liked it, or that I rode to get around, or to be social with my growing bikeish circle of friends.
But what had happened, you see, was that I’d fallen in love. Bone-deep in love with the bicycle itself. As if with a giant, sometimes awkward, often swooping and masterly, always moving bird. The bird and I had become grafted to one another, and I’d been transformed, without knowing it. Transformed into something I think I’d always wanted to be.
A free person. Free and independent and limber and easy, always able to move, always able to breathe. The egg in my chest hatched, in that one moment, and I breathed it in, my deep love of the bicycle. I felt its presence in my own bones, and I embraced it, and we moved on. On and on and on, to where I am today.