Clean your bike

And other useful spring metaphors / Issue 1,413

Oh, hi friends!

Is something in the air?

I didn't want to say that, because I don't want to attune you to it if you don't already sense it, but I also don't want to pretend that I don't sense it, and keep sending you these little notes of encouragement.

But I don't feel very encouraging right now! 

And this happens — of course this happens. And then the tide picks up and we're on our way again. 

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After not-writing for much of yesterday, I went downstairs to clean my bike. It's been in the basement and was dusty all over. 

I wiped down the handlebars and the frame and the seat. I inflated the tires. I hadn't taken out the bike in months because I was certain one of the tubes had a leak or a tear or a tiny slice that made it slowly deflate, and I didn't want to get stuck miles from home with a soggy tire. 

After cleaning it up, I toodled around a few blocks in the neighborhood and everything was working. The tires were actually…fine?

As I was gliding home, I thought, "Why didn't I take out the bike earlier? Why did I imagine something was broken when it wasn't?"

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A joy and curse of experiencing good theater and films and music is that you are constantly reminded of what already exists, what doesn't work, and — critically — what does work, and the effort required to make it sing just so. 

We all want our work to be good. But more than that, I think, we want it to be alive. 

Maybe that is where we can land, for today.

Not aiming at good or great or exceptional, but at giving the smallest something a bit of new life. 

Let that be enough.

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