5 Steps to Taking Control Where We Can

My 2020 vision (I thought that sounded so cool as we approached New Year’s Day 2020.) has not materialized the way I planned. In fact, I let go of most of my plans (or at least of the way I thought I would pursue them) in March, when COVID-19 shattered the image that most of us had pictured for our year. Like many, I have been tiptoeing my way through this year, trying to figure it out as I go. I haven’t been completely dormant. I have continued to make progress on my book, albeit at a slower pace. I have started work on my book proposal. I completed two certification courses—Running Coach and Vegan Nutrition Diploma. I have parented my teenager in this pandemic pandemonium. I have submitted, and had accepted, my first guest blog post. And I have re-envisioned the future I want to create for myself. 2020 has helped to bring into focus my priorities and what I want and don’t want in my life. As this year winds down, we don’t know what to expect from 2021, although it will likely look far different than it would have without an intervening pandemic. I have created a new vision for myself, from the perspective of my new pandemic-heightened insight.

There is much we cannot control in our world—both now and even in non-pandemic times. There is no point wasting energy and effort on the things that are out of our control. Instead, we can approach life from the JustWind Mindset and realize that we have the power and freedom to choose our perspective, allowing us to liberate ourselves from victimhood, optimize our lives and make the difference we were meant to make.

In Functional Medicine Coaching: Stories from the Movement That’s Transforming Healthcare, Sandra Scheinbaum and Elyse L. Wagner highlight five modifiable lifestyle factors related to health:

  1. Sleep and relaxation
  2. Nutrition and hydration
  3. Exercise and movement
  4. Social Relationships
  5. Stress

In essence, these are the things we can influence that affect our physical and mental well-being. Just as physical and mental well-being are intertwined, so are these modifiable lifestyle factors. Each factor influences the others. When I recently read about these lifestyle factors in  Scheinbaum and Wagner’s book, I thought about how they interact with the five realms of Optimal Living in which I want to use my strengths, talents, passions, resources and experiences to reach my full potential, while helping others do the same. Those five realms are:

  1. Body: Our physical form and function.
  2. Mind: Our intellectual and cognitive activity.
  3. Heart: Our emotional and relational life.
  4. Spirit: Our connection to something greater.
  5. Legacy: Our body of work and impact on our world and those who share it.

The five modifiable lifestyle factors are important for optimizing in any of the realms. We can use a process I call “Route Planning” to figure out how to use these factors to optimize each realm. I am creating a tool for implementing this process and will share that in coming weeks. In the meantime, here is an exercise you can use to create positive change. Grab a journal or open a Word document. Then:

  1. Envision your Legacy. What do you ultimately want to leave for the world? What impact do you want to make? What are you called to create?
  2. Consider each of the four realms (Body, Mind, Heart, Spirt) that contribute to the fifth—Legacy. Honestly, assess how well they are contributing to your progress toward the Legacy you envisioned. Use a scale of 1-10 to rate each realm if that is helpful to you.
  3. How can you use the five modifiable lifestyle factors as ingredients to optimize each of those realms, better positioning you to achieve the Legacy you envisioned?
    1. Are sleep and relaxation part of the equation? How could this improve?
    1. Are nutrition and hydration part of the equation? How could this improve?
    1. Are exercise and movement part of the equation? How could this improve?
    1. Are social relationships part of the equation? How could these improve?
    1. Is stress part of the equation? How could this improve?
  4. Look at the ideas you wrote for each factor. What is the first step that you can take today or tomorrow to get you started (or move you along to the next phase) in making progress toward your Legacy vision?
  5. TAKE THAT STEP. See it through and then decide which one is next.

The process I am developing combines elements of route planning, from cycling; plan-of-study creation, from academic advising and training program development, from coaching, to help you create a map for achieving the Legacy you desire. The exercise above is a simplified version of it, but it allows you to take an honest look at what you can control and start to create a route for getting to your ultimate destination. Every step (or pedal stroke) counts.

In this year of so many uncontrollable factors, let’s take time to identify what we can control and take action where we can. I have made that commitment, and so can you.

By the end of 2021, I intend to have secured a book deal, built a viable platform of readers and created a writing life. I will elaborate more on these in the months to come. One of the actions I am taking, starting now, that contributes to all of these intentions is to increase the frequency of my blog posts from every three weeks to weekly. This is a big commitment in my full life, but it feels important.

What step are you taking right away to propel yourself forward toward the Legacy you envisioned?

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Honor Your Fears, But Don’t Let Them Paralyze You

I decided the time was right on Saturday. I had avoided a particular section of road since last November, after I had an upsetting encounter with three dogs, coming at me from two different directions. Avoiding this section was inconvenient and limited my options because it is just about five miles from my house and a major route to the west, where some of the best cycling is.

I was finishing a very enjoyable, solo 55-mile bike ride on Saturday and was feeling emboldened because I had already come through several miles that I hadn’t ridden this year, in part because of mild dog fears. Although this section, farther away from home and easier to avoid, had caused me distress in previous years because of a very aggressive, chasing Australian shepherd, I had not had a problem in the last couple years. But, after my closer-to-home stressful encounter last November, I had shied away from this stretch as well. Considering my options on Saturday morning, though, I found myself drawn to this route and made the decision to ride it. It was empowering to come through it without incident.

This was part of what inspired me to try the closer, scarier route. I thought about it while I rode. Besides my success that day, another cyclist had told me recently that he had been through that section several times without encountering the dogs. Also, I knew I would have a cornering tailwind as I passed them, and it would be hot, so the dogs would be less motivated to move from shady resting spots.

The time felt right.

As I approached the intersection where I would have to make a decision to proceed north, avoiding the dogs, or to turn east toward them, I told myself that either choice was okay. I would listen to my instinct.

I made the right turn toward the dogs.

I used some of my calming mantras as I approached their houses, which are across the street from each other, with the bigger problems across the road from me. I also grabbed another gear and accelerated—no need to dilly dally! I made it past them without encountering a belligerent canine.

Victory! I had done it. For the firs time in nearly 10 months, I had been brave enough to calculate my risks and face my fears.

It made me think.

As you know if you have read many of my previous posts, I find lots of analogies from the bike that apply to the bigger picture of life. This situation is no exception.

Allowing myself to ride this section of road opens options for me. It means less need for backtracking and more possibilities. Similarly, facing our fears in the rest of life creates possibilities, too.

Facing our fear, in a way that acknowledges and honors them allows us to see options that might be hidden from us otherwise. It literally opens our minds. When we don’t—or believe we can’t—face them, routes remain off limits. The doors remain closed. We can’t see down a certain path.

There are some things in my life off the bike that have me feeling fearful lately. The lesson from Saturday’s ride can serve me as I navigate these situations in the upcoming days, weeks and months. I can analyze the situation, like I did on the bike, and calculate my risks. I can also empower myself by providing opportunities for victory in lower-stakes decisions and circumstances. Doing this can embolden me to face the tougher, scarier things with more confidence and to see creative possibilities.

This doesn’t mean the fears go away. I’m not ready to ride past the dogs on their side of the road yet. I’ll need at least a few more passes on the opposite side with some degree of tailwind. Then, when the time is right, I may try it heading west.

The same is true in the rest of life. Navigating the changes that life brings us can be frightening, but it doesn’t have to paralyze us. Remembering this can help us to optimize our circumstances and live the best lives we can, while helping others do the same.

I’m no expert at this, but Saturday’s experience taught me some lessons that I can share:

  1. When something scares you, think about your options around it.
  2. How risky is facing it? Analyze the risks.
  3. What factors could mitigate the risks?
  4. Is the time right to face it?
  5. What does facing it look like?
  6. Listen to your gut. Even if you feel some fear, do your instincts tell you to take that turn toward what scares you and explore it openly?
  7. If so, go for it?
  8. Consider the possibilities that open for you once you are willing to openly acknowledge your fears.
  9. What is the next action you could take to move you forward in the direction of your dreams?
  10. Is there anything stopping you from taking it?
  11. If nothing is stopping you, and you have analyzed your risks, make that turn toward the thing that scares you.
  12. Once you have done it, what changed for you because you were willing to face your fears?
  13. Celebrate your courageous decision and decide how you will move forward next.

“Everything you want is on the other side of fear.” –Jack Canfield

Several years ago, this quote really spoke to me. It still does, although I am not sure that everything I want is on the other side of fear. Or that I will find everything I want if I face my fears. What I do believe is that there will be more options, and I will see more possibilities, if I do face my fears, rather than remaining stuck in paralysis by them.

I am going to work to remember this and practice facing my fears more often. I know I will have several opportunities to do that coming up in the near future.

Have you had the experience of facing your fears and finding creative possibilities and unexpected alternatives on the other side of them? Let us know in the comments.

“Choose courage over comfort by vitally engaging with new opportunities to learn and grow, rather than passively resigning yourself to your circumstances.” –Susan David

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Taking My Lane: Being Seen and Establishing Boundaries

There is an intersection about a mile from my home where, when coming from the south, I am particularly aware of the need to remain visible and present myself confidently. As I approach it, I watch all sides and move to the center of my lane. By moving away from the white line towards the middle of my lane, I position myself in the best place to be seen by traffic, particularly those who might turn left in front of me.

Kansas bicycle laws state that cyclists should ride as close to the right side of the roadway as safe and practicable, and I definitely do, but there are times when it is important to be seen and to set expectations for motorists’ behavior. Like so many lessons I have learned on the bike (and will share in my forthcoming book), this one has high applicability to life off the bike, as well.

In addition to being seen at an intersection, there are other situations that call for taking my lane. A couple weeks ago, I was headed south on a quiet, but narrow, two-lane road, when I saw two cyclists on low recumbents heading north. Behind them, a car was approaching on a gentle hill. I moved to the center of my lane, in order both to be seen and to discourage the car from passing between us, squeezing all of us toward the edges of the road. The cyclists and I waved at each other as we passed. As soon as we did, I moved back to the right edge of my lane, smiled and waved at the motorist. In my mirror, I watched the vehicle pass the recumbent bikes safely, and we all went about our day. The driver was delayed for no more than 10 seconds. As I continued pedaling south, I reflected on the brief encounter.

I realized that I felt powerful—in a good way. I had assessed the situation, identified a potential danger for myself and others, found the courage to take a position and acted confidently (and with trust in the driver). The small act of taking my lane made things safer for me and allowed me to advocate for the safety of two oncoming cyclists. Those recumbents, just inches off the ground, are probably more maneuverable than I think (I’ve never tried one.), but I felt like I was in the better position to make a strong move and protect us all.

One of my daily mantras during meditation is, “I am rooted in my power. I stand in it and own it.” As I have gotten older, especially in the last couple years, I have become better at living this mantra. The first step for any of us in doing this is recognizing our power.

I am not perfect in my practice of standing in my power and owning it, but I have gotten so much better at recognizing that I have some power and that I have a right to assert it in situations where I need to set boundaries for myself or others who don’t have, or haven’t found, their voices.

In recent years, I have realized that I lived much of my life fairly passively, deferring to others and feeling like I didn’t have a right to speak up and be heard or to stand up and be seen. I could do it for a cause or a principle—like becoming vegetarian at age 12 and becoming vegan in 2008. I recognized that animals didn’t have a voice or choice, so I stopped eating them in 1982. Then, I stopped eating or using their products in 2008, after I found the courage to learn more about the egg and dairy industries. For many years as a vegetarian, while I didn’t apologize for my principles, I would say, “I recognize that I am the weird one.” As I type that, it actually sounds a lot like an apology. Now, I may still be the weird one, but I own it, and it is not an apology.

I’ve advocated comfortably for others in different contexts, too—for victims of sexual assault, for people living with HIV and AIDS, for my son, for my students—but it has only been in recent years that I have really felt okay about advocating for myself.

Cycling has helped me to realize that there are absolutely times when we need to take our lane to make ourselves more visible or to be heard.

What has taken longer is cultivating the courage to do it, on the bike or off.

When I pull into the center of my lane to make sure I am seen by motorists or to promote proper passing by a car, I am setting a boundary of sorts. I am teaching the motorists how to behave around me. Of course, there is no guarantee that they will respond the way I intend. Most will, but a few may get enraged by what they perceive as my audacity (or sometimes by my very existence). Most, even if irritated, will drive the way they should, to avoid hitting or otherwise endangering me.

Taking a strong position in any setting to be seen or heard and to help other people understand how they should treat us requires courage and comes with risks. But, if we meekly remain against the white line on the bike or in the rest of life when we really need to take a bolder stance, our expectations may be misinterpreted. As Brene Brown has warned, this is likely to lead to resentment. We expect others to treat us a certain way, and they don’t. We haven’t asserted ourselves to instruct them how to treat us, but we resent them for not meeting our unstated expectations.

“What you permit, you promote. What you allow, you encourage. What you condone, you own.” –Unknown

We have both the right and the responsibility to set boundaries, but this doesn’t excuse blatant bad behavior—by drivers, by the humans in our daily lives or by society and institutions. As I was recently writing a book chapter about taking my lane, I thought of two 21st-century social movements: #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter. In both of these movements, members of communities—people who have experienced sexual victimization and African American people—are positioning themselves to be seen and heard and are instructing society in how to treat them. This is a version of taking their lane.

Finding the courage and recognizing our right to take our lane can be a gradual process. I think we often have to live our way into it. For me it has come with the recognition that life is moving ever more quickly, and time is short. With that realization, I have less and less patience and, quite literally, less and less time to shrink into the white line and risk not being noticed. On the bike, it is my life and safety. Off the bike, it is my quality of life and my ability to make the contribution I want to make in the world.

Because time is short.

So, I will keep digging deep to find the courage to take my lane, and I encourage you to take your lane. Position yourself to be seen and heard. Share your message with the world. Speak your truth.

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Comment below to share your experiences with taking your lane. How have you found the courage to do this? Did you live your way into it, like I have, or have you always known how to do it? How has it served you?

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Appreciating the Gifts of the Moment

“May the sun bring you new energy by day,

May the moon softly restore you by night,

May the rain wash away your worries,

May the breeze blow new strength into your being,

May you walk gently through the world and know its beauty all the days of your life.”

–Apache Blessing

I began writing this post early in the morning, the Friday before Memorial Day, in my bedroom, with open windows allowing the sound of gentle raindrops and various birds to serenade me. I appreciate the quiet solitude that I am often able to find in early mornings, while Kenny and Logan are sleeping and before I have to show up anywhere (virtually or in person) else in life. This beautiful Apache Blessing instills peace in my heart when I read it and contemplate its words.

We celebrated our 19th wedding anniversary on Tuesday, and Kenny was very nostalgic that evening, looking at our wedding album and other photos. It was obvious that he was reflecting on the surreal nature of the passing of 19 years. Where did they go? How do we have a 15-year-old son?

Although he seemed to have a stronger sense of the poignantly fleeting nature of life that evening, I also have more and more of those moments lately.

Whether it is raining or sunny, cold or hot, windy or still—meteorologically or metaphorically—if we can view the moments of our lives according to the gifts they bring, like the Apache Blessing illustrates, we are far more likely not only to appreciate this precious life, but to make something of it.

Our world is busy and full of distractions. As an introvert who is sensitive to external stimuli, this can become overwhelming for me. There are many disappointments that come with this COVID-19 pandemic we are all living. For far too many families, it goes beyond disappointment, to tragedy. And any of us could find ourselves there before this is over. For all of us, there are changes, many unpleasant. I bought groceries Thursday evening, a task I don’t particularly enjoy at any time. I choose my stores based on the likelihood of sensory overload. Right now, though, I really dislike the experience of shopping. Wearing a mask feels like the socially responsible thing to do, so I do it, and many others do, too. But we lose something behind the masks. We can’t really see other people. Eyes say a lot, but not everything. Everyone seems more guarded. It is both harder to hear people and harder to read people. The world feels less safe and more unfriendly. It is a minor thing, but it feels like a loss, and it feels like it may be our reality for the foreseeable future.

Like many, I try to find both the lessons and the gifts of this situation. What can I learn about myself, about life, about what’s next for me? And, what can I appreciate?

Personally, I appreciate (love) having fewer social obligations. I am working from home, and while I am staying plenty busy with that, having no commute at the moment is a gift. It is one I am not looking forward to relinquishing when I do return to the workplace. So, what does that tell me about what I should do moving forward? What changes can I make to have more of this and less of that?

There are undoubtedly some activities I miss. Biking Across Kansas is the highlight of my year, and it is cancelled. I am grateful that I can still ride my bike, though, and we are hoping to create some sort of family cycling adventure when it is safe to do so.

In some ways, this contracting of social activity feels like I have come into my moment. It’s not perfect. There are losses with the gifts, but I feel an obligation to recognize the lessons that may be prodding me to implement changes in my life.

What can I keep from this time? What can any of us?

As I have become more and more aware, time passes all too quickly. I need to make it count, and I need to do that now, in each moment. Because, in no time, 19 more years will have passed. Awareness is the beginning, but action is what really matters. The art is in soaking up the gifts of the moment, while taking action that implements the lessons.

Mindful awareness coupled with impactful action.

How can we achieve that?

While doing laundry and dishes yesterday morning, when I started the post, I was listening to a wonderful interview between Lewis Howes and Jim Kwik (How have I not known about this Jim Kwik? He is amazing!). He says that one of the reasons we don’t make progress is because we are overwhelmed—our project or goal seems too big. I know this can be true for me. He says, “What is the smallest action you can take?” Others, like James Clear, have proposed this idea, too. Just taking tiny actions, consistently, to keep moving forward.

I have a productivity plan that I keep on a spreadsheet with dates and priority ratings. It is the way I keep taking tiny steps. It seems slow and prodding at times, and I certainly get stuck now and then, but it does keep me moving forward. Because my Friday was full, writing this blog post was the only thing on the plan for me yesterday Of course, work and family obligations and an after-work bike ride were also part of my day, but this is the thing that feeds my longing to create and learn and grow. I feel like listening to the lessons and the inspiration that each moment can bring and figuring out how to implement them in my life are so important to really soaking up and appreciating what life has to offer.

If we don’t, time will pass anyway. As I have said in previous posts, I am really afraid of regrets. So, even if it is rainy, or we are in the middle of a pandemic, or I am not making the progress I wish I were making, I do believe I have an obligation to make each day, each moment count.

I am finding gifts in some surprising circumstances and would love to keep you posted. Please join my email list to stay informed and to receive a copy of my plant-based recipe booklet.

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“Lift up your eyes upon
This day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

–Maya Angelou, Excerpt from “On the Pulse of Morning”


Self-Compassion or Losing My Edge?

We are living in strange times. So much has changed in all of our lives in such a short period of time. I could never have imagined the current state of our world. Maybe that was ignorance or short-sightedness or naivete´, but the events of the last couple months have me working to find my way in this new reality. Partly by necessity and partly through this process of feeling my way, I am doing a lot of things differently. Within these changes, I have found myself struggling to discern the difference between self-compassion and weakness or laziness.

I believe in listening to my gut and in being patient and compassionate with myself, but I also believe in self-discipline and determination and dedication. I believe in living courageously. Where is the line between these values? Are they dichotomous? How can they coexist?

The changes in my life and my habits extend beyond the bike, but I find so many metaphors in cycling (I’m writing a whole book around that.), that the bike is where these are most evident for me.

I’m still riding a lot. I have over 1,100 miles for 2020, so far. I generally ride five days out of seven. But I am doing it differently. Maybe it is okay because I am still putting in the miles, but it does make me stop to think whether I am being honest with myself. How much of this is related to COVID-19 and being socially responsible, and how much of it is losing my edge?

For me, my “edge” is my dedication and commitment to do what I say I am going to do, to live courageously and to push myself. Cycling is the major manifestation of it at this point in my life.

I have an index-card file (old-fashioned, I know!) of cycling routes I have constructed in every direction from Andale, ranging from 15 miles to over 100 miles. I have ridden all of them, mostly alone, some of them hundreds or even thousands of times.

In all honesty, I have felt myself becoming more constrained over the last few years, even before COVID-19. This has mostly been related to multiple scary close calls with chasing dogs. (And I LOVE dogs! Just not irresponsible people who let them run unsupervised. But that is another post.) There are some routes I have avoided completely since a particularly harrowing canine encounter. It feels like I have narrowed my “safe” options a little more in each of the past few years. I have told myself that there is no point adding to my stress if I can have a more enjoyable ride by playing it safe.

This year, in the midst of the pandemic, I have made the decision to do shorter loops on my longer rides, so that I can stop back by my home for bathroom and fluid breaks, rather than stopping in public places. For example, on Sunday, I rode 26 miles for the first loop and 25 miles for the second loop. Somehow this feels both safer and more socially responsible. I ride without a mask, alone on the road or occasionally with Kenny. The more I read and hear about the ability of asymptomatic individuals to carry the virus, the more important it seems to wear a mask when I am around people. So, it seems wiser and more courteous to be more self-contained on my mask-free rides.

But, is that the truth?

Is it just fear? Is it getting soft or weak?

And, whatever it is, what all is behind it?

I have pondered several possibilities.

  • Fear. There is certainly fear involved. This is not just about social responsibility, although that is part of it. But, is it simply that I am letting fear dictate my choices? I don’t believe in living my life from a place of fear, but, if I am genuinely (and justifiably?) fearful, is it smart to listen to it? Is that self-compassion? Is that trusting my instinct to keep me safe, or is it being a wimp? The line between the two seems blurred to me.
  • Uncertainty. It is impossible to plan anything right now. Everything feels uncertain and in question. Maybe that is why it feels safer to stick to known, safe, chasing-dog-free routes that are close to home. The uncertainty of the world is overwhelming. Introducing additional unpredictability feels like too much.
  • Weirdness. Grocery shopping feels so weird right now. Increasingly, it seems like the only appropriate thing to do is wear a mask, just in case we could be asymptomatic, but infectious. Or to help other people feel more comfortable. This is just one more thing to worry about on the bike. Putting a mask on a sweaty face (after pulling it out of a sweaty jersey pocket) sounds unappealing. Not wearing one into a small-town gas station seems rude, if not reckless.
  • Fatigue. Is it just that I am tired, not so much physically, but emotionally? The world feels heavy. Life is more complicated. We have all had to accept a lot of loss in the last couple of months. Maybe I am just exhausted by that and want to minimize my potential for more loss and stress and trauma. Does it just feel easier not to have to cope with apprehension around what I might experience out on the road in farther reaches, even though that sense of adventure and possibility has been food for my soul in the past?
  • Wisdom. Maybe I could take a more positive perspective. Maybe my reluctance to venture farther from home, to stop at small-town gas stations, to road-test routes where I have had previous serious dog problems is rooted in the wisdom of lived experience, replacing the perceived invincibility of youth. It is true that I have had many close calls with chasing, even snarling, dogs. I have had bottles thrown at me. I have been run off the road by a semi. I have been blown off the road by wind. It is possible that all this has accumulated into wisdom that has compelled me to shed the perception of invincibility that I carried through my younger adult years. I never really considered myself to be a risk taker, but I have ridden and/or run many thousands of miles alone, often in remote territory and in unfamiliar cities while travelling. For most of my life, this has just been what I have done. But maybe I now recognize the fragility of life, with the accumulation of loss of people and animals over the years, the recognition of how fleeting my son’s childhood is, the sense of foreboding that comes with realizing that I am likely in the last half of my own life. Maybe this translates to wisdom, to taking chances when it is smart and to avoiding them when it makes sense.
  • Hormones. Pedaling and pondering on Sunday morning, the possibility occurred to me that hormonal changes, like lower testosterone (Yes, women produce it, too.) associated with perimenopause could be contributing to my need to minimize risk. (I have been thinking a lot lately about menopause, in general, and plan to do a fairly extensive review of the literature around it, both for myself and for an idea I have for my coaching practice. Stay tuned, if you, too, are a perimenopausal woman.) This is just speculative pondering at this point, but maybe hormonal changes are producing more risk aversion in my life. Or, is that the very definition of losing my edge? Hmm.

I don’t think I have come to any solid conclusions through writing this post, but I believe there is value, not just for myself, in sharing my struggles because I know we all struggle. I know we are all living in a scary, uncertain and previously unimaginable time right now.

I know others are scared of this world, of COVID-19 and of the social and economic changes that it is bringing.

I know others feel the stress of uncertainty. When will we get back to “normal”? What will “normal” look like in the future? Will the kids have school and sports in the fall? Will we be able to take vacations this summer? Will it be safe to see the older adults in our lives or for them to see their grandkids?

I know that I am not the only one who finds it hard to relate to other people from behind a mask that conceals a smile or other facial expressions. I find that people are less inclined to make eye contact while wearing a mask. Is that because of self-consciousness or because we are all scared of each other right now? Maybe it is a little of both.

I know I am not the only one who feels fatigued by the heaviness of this world—the result of fear and uncertainty and accumulated loss. We have all had to give up traditions, vacations and habits that have been deeply engrained in our lives, that we never could have conceived of abandoning so abruptly and in such volume. Something as seemingly small as the Western social convention of shaking hands now sounds dangerous and has a questionable future. Even as we have become desensitized—“Oh, now school is cancelled. Now Biking Across Kansas is cancelled. Now we might not be able to travel to see family. Of course, I can’t get a haircut.”—the losses, both micro and macro, add up and weigh on us.

I also know that many of us do gain wisdom as we live life. Generally, this is good, but it may cause us to rethink long-held patterns and to look back wistfully on a more carefree time. Confucius said, “By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” I wrote those words in my very first volume of quotes in 2001, but they feel truer than ever now. Our earned wisdom through lived experience feels unquestionably bittersweet, and sometimes more bitter than sweet.

I also know that I am not the only perimenopausal woman who may be feeling her way in the world, as her body changes and takes her mind and feelings along with it. Men experience hormonal changes, too. Testosterone levels decrease as they age. They may have similar feelings of risk aversion. I have recently determined to take a more proactive and positive approach to menopause, which is why I have planned a campaign for knowledge on the topic and a curation of the fruits of my study to share with others. It feels like I a way that I can contribute, while helping myself.

I am a thinker, so I contemplate these things more than a lot people do. But I believe that others are experiencing similar feelings, and I hope my ponderings can help some of you feel less alone and maybe can help you approach your response to these feelings with compassion, patience and self-love.

One of the reasons I love to read and write nonfiction is that I believe we all have so much to learn and to teach through sharing our struggles and what we learn through them. As I said, I learn and experience so much from my bike saddle that has far broader application in life. The issues I address in this post are not exclusive to the bike. My experience on the bike just helps me analyze and come closer to understanding them and to be able to articulate them in a way that may reach others.

I have noticed risk aversion and weariness and fear when it comes to my business, my job, my relationships, just being out in the world.

If you are experiencing a sense of wanting or needing to hunker down or to stay closer to home or to minimize exposure of any kind in the world, know that you are not alone. Even as I try to tease out the truth from the myth from the excuses, I am also committed to being compassionate, yet disciplined and patient, while still striving for excellence.

Maybe excellence doesn’t have to look the same as it used to look. Or maybe it doesn’t have to look the same right now. Maybe it is okay to pause a bit. Maybe it is okay to put in the miles, even if they are “safer” miles right now. Maybe it is enough to honor that I am not just curling up in a ball and shunning life.

I think all of us are still trying to figure out what this pandemic will mean for us and how our world will change. Maybe that is where the patience should come in.

Do any of these ponderings resonate with you? Have you resolved them in your life? What do you think—is it self-compassion to acknowledge and respond to our fears by taking “safer” action, or is that giving in to fear and losing our edge? I would be interested to know your perspective on this topic.

Let’s stay in touch in these uncertain times. If you haven’t yet joined my email list, please do.  I’ll send you my Plant-based Recipe booklet with 28 of my favorite nourishing and delicious recipes.

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