Cristina and Fear of Forgetting

So I have this lovely orange bike named Cristina. I didn’t name her – she was already a Cristina when I found her lying abandoned, minus a front wheel, in an empty square one summer night.

That night, I took poor Cristina home and gave her a new front wheel, new brakes and a milk-crate basket.

She was my faithful friend for a few years. We went to work together every day. We got groceries together. She carried me to all my teaching appointments, to nights out, through many a traffic jam.

Then, at some point, I stopped riding my bicycle.

Why did this happen? Well, I started working from home, and no longer had a commute. I got out of the habit. Sitting in front of a computer for hours at a time meant that all I wanted to do was walk, even hour-long walks. Especially hour-long walks.

I discovered that walking calms me down, whereas cycling in Florence is generally not a calming activity by any stretch of the imagination.

So no riding of the bicycle. Cristina has been very patient through all this. I suspect she is actually enjoying the rest. She’s getting on, you know.

But somehow, I’ve developed some kind of fear of riding my bicycle. As if I have forgotten how to do it.

I know, rationally, that you don’t forget how to ride a bicycle.

After all, it’s just like riding a bike, right?

Right. Like that.

And yet when I think about taking Cristina out for a spin, I immediately return to the time when a speeding motorcycle crossed the bike path, hitting my front wheel, and just kept going.

Or the time I ended up crossing a huge boulevard behind a bus just as the light went red, and found myself in the middle of two lanes of furious, honking traffic that wouldn’t let me get to the other side.

Or or or.

Somehow, all the good memories become inaccessible.

Yes, I admit that I was a bit stressed more often than not, but there were also times when I was happy to be on my bike.

There were the times when I felt confident and free to go wherever I liked. The times when I would sail down a quiet street on a cool night. All the times Cristina quickly and safely saw me to my destination.

Am I really worried that I’ve forgotten how to ride a bike?

Not really. I think it would all come back to me pretty quickly.

Maybe this fear is not so much about forgetting how as it is about trust.

Guess what?

I’m not really talking about bicycles here.

You may have already figured that one out, my dears, because you are all smart cookies.

What’s really going on is that it’s been a good two months since my last post, and I’m sitting here beside a fuzzy green monster who is convinced that I have forgotten how to blog and should just stop trying.

(Aw, sweet little monster. So very green and fuzzy. And always looking out for me.)

So this is me, remembering that I know how to ride a bike, and dipping in one little toe at a time to test the waters. Because who doesn’t love a good mixed metaphor?

I may never ride a bicycle in Florence again. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. But I would want that to be a conscious choice that I made because I really dislike cycling through Florentine traffic, not because I don’t trust myself.

Just a little thought for today. And a picture of Cristina, because how could I not post one?

COMMENTS: This is a pretty vulnerable post here about fear and trust. Which are really huge subjects that can be painful to investigate.

Lots and lots of tricky things will most likely come up when we play around with either one of them. As usual, I invite you to be gentle with yourself and with everyone else here (and that includes me, you hear?).

So we won’t give any unsolicited advice or judge anyone’s experience with this stuff. Because we know it’s hard and we respect that. Also because we are awesome.

And while I’m at it, I want to take any guilty feelings about the metaphorical Cristinas we have parked outside our houses and fling all that guilt right out the window. Whee! There it goes.

Here’s a question to ponder, in the comments or not: do you have any fears that might just be about trust?

And do you have a fuzzy green monster who would like to convince you otherwise? Because mine wants you to know that he might be starting a club. Just FYI.