A 53-Mile Lesson in Surviving and Thriving in 2020

“Please subdue the anguish of your soul. Nobody is destined only to happiness or to pain. The wheel of life takes one up and down by turn.”

–Kalidasa

This morning’s ride started off humidly, but blissfully. After a short internal debate—”Do I face the 61st Street dogs early in the ride, with tailwind, or later in the ride, with headwind, but when the dogs are likely to be hot and lazy?”—I headed west. That meant I would pass these pests (Their people are the real pests, since they allow them to run.) within the first three miles, but then be done with them for the rest of the ride. As I approached their home, on the same side of the road, I came upon a rural traffic jam—two slower cyclists up ahead and multiple cars both directions. “Great!” I thought, “Of all places to have to slow down.” I did slow down, knowing that I couldn’t move to the oncoming lane if the dogs ran out to chase. After the last oncoming car passed, I called, “On your left,” and pulled around the cyclists, two Biking Across Kansas acquaintances. We exchanged pleasant greetings, and I said, “Glad those dogs didn’t come out, with all that traffic.” “That’s for sure!” one said, clearly familiar with the furry fiends, as well.

I soon turned south and saw in my mirror that the women continued west. It always feels like a small victory when I get past those dogs without a sighting. Pedaling happily, relishing the quiet Sunday-morning roads, I saw hot air balloonists preparing to launch or wrapping up a flight—I’m not sure which—a few miles later. Except for the dogside traffic jam, the roads were quieter than usual, which had me thinking that people were sleeping off the Fourth of July celebrations.

My ride continued smoothly for several more miles, including a bathroom stop at Lake Afton, until, all of a sudden, 25 miles in, a shockingly painful sting to my groin literally nearly caused me to crash. Disoriented, I realized I was hurtling toward the gravel at the side of the road. I managed to regain control of my bike and come to a stop. Once I clipped out of my pedals and put my feet down, I had to practice great restraint not to strip off my shorts right there on the side of the road. A stinging beastie, apparently unaware or unimpressed that my vegan nonviolence extends to insects, had delivered an excruciatingly painful stab to a very sensitive region. I never did find the perpetrator, but I’m sure anyone who might have been watching from a house window got an entertaining show as I searched.

The scene of the stinging.

After taking some breaths and this photo, I got back on my bike, unsure how it was going to go with a painful groin and shaking body. Fortunately, shortly after getting moving, the pain subsided (Thank you, endorphins.), but the quick reaction that kept me from crashing came at the cost of a serious adrenaline dump from which I never fully recovered for the remainder of my ride. It was a fair trade—staying on two wheels but feeling like I was dragging in the dirt afterwards.

So, I pedaled onward, wondering what stung me. Murder hornet? Given that it is 2020, the thought crossed my mind. I thought about other insect encounters on the bike. Years ago, climbing the big hill (Heartbreak? Wilmar? Manhattan Hill? I can’t remember what it is called.) in Manhattan, Kansas, a bee flew into Kenny’s cycling glove. This resulted in much cussing and an impressive glove removal with his teeth, while we continued to climb with David Blair. Kenny has also been stung by a bee inside his helmet. That also resulted in cussing. One year, as we rode through Andale on the Tour de Parish, Kenny decided to call it a day, and I continued on for the metric century. My phone rang a short time later, but I didn’t answer or check voice mail until I got to the next SAG. I had a message from Logan saying, “A bug is inside Dad’s ear. He went to the emergency room.” According to Logan, he was first alerted to the problem when he heard Kenny yelling profanities in the driveway. So, Kenny has certainly had his share of bike-bug problems. I have had stinging insects fly into my jersey and into my sports bra, leaving trails of tiny bites before I could extricate the creatures. Flies have bitten me through my shorts. On some late-summer evenings, I have come home thoroughly plastered by gnats that had been so thick they flew into my nose and eyes. But no sting has ever hurt this badly or shocked me so dramatically.

I thought about all that as I rode, feeling worn out by the adrenaline dump. Finally, I turned west. Although the wind was not bad at all, by Kansas standards, I looked forward to what should have been a nice push from the east. However, the first things I saw when I turned were two orange construction signs. “No center line.” No big deal; it’s a quiet road. “Loose gravel.” That was less welcome. “Of course there is,” I thought grimly. The gravel wasn’t all that loose, but new chat had been put down since I was last on that road. It was what I refer to as “boulder-size gravel.” Not that loose, fortunately, but it still required a much greater effort than I felt like expending. I tried to distract myself by asking, “What is the lesson in this?” After all, I’m writing a book based on lessons I’ve learned on the bike. Surely, there must be a lesson.

After four miles, I turned back north and soon reached my bathroom stop in Goddard. I felt beaten up by the stinging insect, the ensuing adrenaline dump, the chat road and the humidity.

I was glad to stop for a moment and said hello to a cute little boy and his dad, as I headed into the bathroom. A thorough inspection of the interior of my shorts yielded no evidence of whoever had stung me, and the light was too dim to assess the damage to my skin. I washed my hands and headed back outside. The little boy, whom I soon to learned was three years old and named Tower, approached me and wanted to talk. His dad said, “She’s a smart girl. She wears her helmet.” I told Tower, “Real cyclists always wear helmets. You have a good brain, and you want to protect it.” He asked his dad to get his Spiderman helmet out of the car to show me. Tower talked to me as I filled my water bottle and took my electrolyte capsule. He held the button on the water fountain so I could refill my Camelbak. He said, “You have a flashlight on your handles.” I explained that I had flashing lights on the front and rear of my bike so cars could see me because I ride on the road. He asked about my bike computer and my dog horn. I asked him, “Does your bike have two or three wheels?” He said, “One, two, three, four.” Ah, training wheels. As I prepared to leave, Tower said, “I have a sticker,” and pulled a water bottle barcode sticker off his shirt, gently pressing it to my jersey. I said, “Thanks, Tower. That will be a nice souvenir of our conversation.” I mounted my bike and headed back to the road, telling Tower’s dad, “He is quite the charming conversationalist.”

Heading north, I felt lighter and more energized. I hadn’t totally shed the effects of the stinging/near crash, but I felt happy and recalled other experiences at that very same bathroom stop on the Prairie Sunset Trail, just off 199th Street West in Goddard. Two days ago, I spent an hour and a half in the pavilion there, waiting out a thunderstorm. In 2018 I had another blog-post-inspiring encounter there, when I met Dale who stopped for a bathroom break while on a solo bike ride two days before his 90th birthday.

After crossing Highway 54, I allowed my mind to wander pleasantly again. A mantra, borrowed from Gabby Bernstein, that I use daily in my meditation came to me. “I am open to creative possibilities for abundance.” Then I knew. This ride was a metaphor for 2020. Like the year (2020 just sounds cool!), the ride started with such promise. I had the good fortune of passing the 61st Street dogs without incident, a pleasant exchange with the cyclists I passed and the balloonists, then BOOM! Out of nowhere, I’m stung in the groin (How did the little beast even get between my leg and the saddle?) so painfully I nearly wreck. So startlingly that I am brought to a standstill to assess the damage and recover enough to keep moving forward. (Not unlike the current pandemic when it knocked us all off course and closed and cancelled everything, starting in March.) Making my way after that, I felt battered and weakened. Then, there was Tower, a pleasant surprise who revived me enough to keep going and gave me the boost I needed to recognize inspiration.

As I thought about the ways that my bike ride mirrored the year, I recognized that it was a gift, truly a creative possibility for abundance that called for an impromptu blog post that I expect to develop into a book chapter. It occurred to me that, even as we make our way through the rest of 2020 and beyond, tired and beaten down by the pandemic and all its effects, by social unrest, by political ugliness, by personal and family struggles, we need to remain open to the pleasant little surprises, like curious three year olds and beautiful sunsets caused by the Saharan dust cloud covering the Kansas sun. As the quote at the top of this post reminds us, 2020 and life itself is full of the unexpected. Some of it is painful as heck. Some of it is delightful and energizing. We will always have a mix. We just have to be open to that.

I made it home. Even though I’m sure my average speed was lowered by the exhaustion I felt after the stinging, I made it home safely and in a decent time. (Sadly, when I went to take a photo of the sticker Tower gave me, it was gone. I felt bad because that meant that I had inadvertently littered and because I had lost my souvenir. I guess I was just too sweaty for it to stick.) I think the message of my ride is that we will get through this year. It may be hard, and it may hurt, but there will be joy, too, as long as we allow it in. We have to set the intention and make the effort to notice the gifts, those boosts that will sustain us as we keep moving forward, never completely sure what awaits on our journey but courageous enough to persevere and find out.

What lessons are you learning from 2020? Please share in the comments.

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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”


Sankalpa

When I awoke around 3 a.m. a couple weeks ago and couldn’t go back to sleep, I decided to use Insight Timer for a guided meditation to try to quiet my mind. I chose a yoga nidra meditation for rest & sleep, by Diana Warlick.  In the meditation, Warlick introduced the concept of “sankalpa.” I was intrigued by what she said about it—probably too intrigued, given that I was trying to go back to sleep. While the meditation was relaxing, hearing about sankalpa for the first time was energizing, rather than sleep-inducing. I wanted to know more. So, immediately upon rising, after my alarm sounded at 5 a.m., I looked up the concept of sankalpa and found an excellent article by Kelly McGonigal, in Yoga International.

In my first reading, I learned enough to understand that sankalpa is somewhere between a life purpose and an intention. This reminded me of an idea from Deepak Chopra and Rudy Tanzi’s  Super Brain: Unleashing the Explosive Power of Your Mind to Maximize Health, Happiness, and Spiritual Well-Being—that of an overarching umbrella goal, or theme, that each of us needs in our lives as a guiding aspiration that informs every choice. After reading McGonigal’s article and several other sources, I certainly don’t consider myself an expert, but I feel like I have a better understanding of sankalpa and how it differs from a theme, purpose, mission or goal.

I benefit from having discerned how all these concepts, as well as my deepest values, inform my life. Over the past week, sankalpa has become a meaningful addition to my regular reflections.

I haven’t been able to identify the primary source, but I found Richard Miller quoted in several articles (including McGongial’s) as saying, “A sankalpa isn’t a petition or a prayer. It is a statement of deeply held fact, and a vow that is true in the present moment.”

According to McGonigal, Miller also teaches that sankalpa involves three types of listening: 1) having the courage to hear the message behind our deep desires, 2) welcoming and honestly reflecting on the message and 3) being willing to act in accordance with the message we receive. All these stages of listening are best accomplished from a place of mindfulness, such as can be achieved in meditation. Personally, I also find the bike to be an outstanding place to hear the true callings of my heart and spirit.

As I have learned to do with intentions over the years, it is important to state the sankalpa in the present tense. Just like intentions, when we use the present tense, we operate from a place of abundance and trust that we already have all that we need. This is far more empowering than operating from a place of lack and need.

One of my favorite concepts in the reading I did about sankalpa is Rod Stryker’s teaching that we are all both being and becoming, universal and unique. He explains that there are two parts to our soul or spirit, called atman in the Vedic tradition. Atman means “essence.” The two parts are para atman—“supreme, highest or culmination”—and jiva atman—“individual or personal.” So, the para atman is the part of our spirit that is being—who we already are. It is universal. The jiva atman is who we are becoming—our unique destiny. I love Stryker’s exhortation to “Live as contentedly as possible in between the goal and realizing the goal.”

I think this is a wonderful aspiration—to live contentedly in the knowledge that we already have all that we need to fully live our deepest calling, while we take the actions and put in the work that will allow us to live that calling. It is a very comforting and encouraging idea to me.

So, my reading of the teachings about sankalpa lead me to aspire to a sankalpa that takes into consideration both states—the being and the becoming, the universal and the unique. Because there is an element of becoming, I must remember that my sankalpa will likely be a dynamic, evolving truth.

As I pondered my sankalpa on the bike last weekend, I felt called to this truth: “I am a unique expression of the Divine Mystery, contributing to the creation of a healthier, more compassionate world with every thought, word and action I choose.” I will sit with this in my mindfulness practice and on the bike regularly to discern if and/or when my sankalpa needs to evolve.

I am excited and energized by new ideas that cause me to think. Sankalpa is one of those ideas, and I am grateful for my nocturnal introduction to it. Despite the sleep disruption to which it contributed by igniting my mind, learning about sankalpa is a gift because it is a new instrument to assist my aspiration to live my Highest Good, Greatest Self and Grandest Life.

Sankalpa will be an additional centering tool for me. My core values—compassion, excellence, integrity and fitness—underlie everything I do. Sankalpa helps to remind me where those values initiate—from my para atman, the universal part of me that is being—and to what action those values call me—my jiva atman, the part of me that is becoming, living my unique destiny.

In addition to my core values and theme, my purpose, mission and priorities guide my decisions and my actions. Sankalpa is related to all these, providing a deep, solid foundation, and I am grateful to have the opportunity to employ it to enhance my growth and guide my evolution.


Right Time. Right Questions

“You mustn’t wait until the perfect conditions to begin a task. Rather tackle it boldly until the conditions become perfect.” Tony Fahkry

There are some ideas that reappear repeatedly throughout life, in various contexts. For me, one of those has been the idea of not waiting until the perfect time to start something new, take on a challenge, etc. Different thinkers have expressed this in assorted ways and to varied audiences, but the gist of the message is the same: “It will never be the perfect time. Conditions will never be exactly right. There are always reasons NOT to do/try/risk something.” So, we just have to jump in and move forward anyway. Most writers follow up this advice with the hopeful message that, by jumping right in, we will create the perfect conditions once we get started. We will find the support, help, guidance and resources that we need.

On some level, I know this advice is true—at least the part about there being no perfect time or situation.

But, I do believe that some times or situations are better than others. I also think there can be a wrong time.

So, that is where it gets complicated for me. How do I know when it is the best time or least wrong time?

And, I am not so good at believing that everything I need will appear once I jump in. As much as I want to believe this deeply, I am not fully there yet.

How do I know if this is weakness or wisdom?

I guess this is where Rainer Maria Rilke’s advice comes into play:

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

My worry is that it would be all too easy, though, to “live the questions” until the moment of possibility has passed.

There is a quote in my volumes of collected quotes that, maddeningly, I have not been able to locate recently. I think it is from the Buddha, and its recommendation is frequently part of my mindfulness practice. It says to sit with two questions daily: 1. “Who am I?” 2. “What do I want?”

I really try to believe that asking myself these questions regularly will help me to know when it is the right time to move forward with my coaching practice more assertively and to know exactly what that means. That is a big, pressing question for me right now.

Like my last post, this one has sat untouched and unfinished for nearly a month, as life has been occupied by other activities. In the interim, additional questions have arisen.

On June 4, I turned 49. That event presented me with the questions, “Where do I want to be when I am 50? How do I get there? What needs to change?”

I began pondering those questions right as I was preparing to leave on vacation. From June 8 to June 16, I was Biking Across Kansas. I thought I might find the answers to the questions around my last year in my 40s as I was working in the wind, heat and hills to make my way across the state. However, I found that what I needed most was to allow myself to just empty my mind of those questions and of so many worries that I realized had been weighing me down more heavily than I had known.

Instead of finding the answer to where I wanted to be when I turn 50, I found a new question. “What do I want to take back to real life from BAK?”

I was able to find some answers to that one. I want to release some of the pressure I have been placing on myself. I want to try to focus on the basics—the things that really matter—and let go of the rest, as much as possible. I want to take back the courage and the energy I feel on BAK. Although I was working very hard and riding my bike for several hours a day, I noticed that I was much less tired than usual. Allowing myself to let go of the typical worries that occupy my mind was energizing.

I am trying, with varying degrees of success, to implement the BAK lessons into my post-BAK life, while I am back to trying to answer where I want to be when I am 50 and how to get there. Gretchen Rubin recently asked in a Facebook Live presentation, “If you got one thing accomplished this summer, what would you want it to be?” While I was on my bike on Sunday, I thought about this. Initially, I thought about what one thing I would want to accomplish in each of five areas of my life: health, finances, relationships, career and spirituality. Walking on campus on Monday, I narrowed this to THE one thing that is more important to me to accomplish this summer than any of the others. That clarity feels good. It helps me to know where my priorities are and how to make decisions that support those.

I do believe that I have a better idea of where I want to be when I am 50 and how to get there, although I am still refining those answers. In the spirit of BAK, I am trying to focus on what matters most and to release pressure while figuring out how to take the next steps with my coaching practice and in life. This is a delicate balance—making progress toward where I want to be, without making the journey miserable because of so much pressure.

I guess it is like a bike ride in difficult conditions. I know I must continue making forward progress, turning the pedals and covering ground, to get out of the heat/wind/rain, but I want to avoid blowing up in the process. So, I back off my speed and intensity when necessary. And, I make sure I have what I need—water, electrolytes, gel, a cold towel for my neck.

I will continue to flesh out my ideas around where I want to be when I am 50 and put in process a strategy to get there, but I will also remember that part of living and aging with power and purpose is living in joy and gratitude right now. I will “live the questions,” while checking in with myself to avoid getting stalled. In that way, hopefully, I will live my way into the answers and recognize the “right time” when it presents itself.


Equanimity in the Wind

We Kansas cyclists know wind.

My original blog post explained the inspiration behind the JustWind name and philosophy. Justwindmusings.com blog continues to evolve into my coaching practice website, justwindcoach.com. I was encouraged last week, when I reconnected with an acquaintance with whom I had had no contact in nearly a decade. Out of the blue, without knowing the name of my coaching practice or my blog, she told me that she has always remembered our conversation when I explained the concept of adopting the perspective that life’s challenges are “just wind.” Her recollection helped validate for me the benefits of applying the “just wind” reframe in the face of challenges and difficulties.

Winds in Kansas were so strong on Tuesday that my son’s track meet was postponed. This is a reminder that, even when viewing challenges as “just wind,” there are times when we must stop and regroup. Occasionally, doing so is both prudent and necessary. Sometimes we encounter an obstacle so big that it causes us to step back and adjust. The important this is that we do get back on track and that we take from it what we choose to aid in future growth and progress on our path.

Regaining Equanimity

“When force of circumstance upsets your equanimity, lose no time in recovering your self-control, and do not remain out of tune longer than you can help. Habitual recurrence to the harmony will increase your mastery of it.”—Marcus Aurelius

Because the winds of life will blow, sometimes even knocking us down or pushing us off course, it is crucial that we have strategies to help return to equanimity, which is a state of calm steadiness, even in the face of chaos around us. Here are some of the strategies that I use personally and that I teach my coaching clients:

  1. Mindfulness: To me, this means being in the present, rather than being caught up in the frenzy of past regrets or future worries. Practicing mindfulness allows us to think before we act, to remember our priorities and to make conscious choices. It is a decision to act with purpose and to remain in alignment with our values. I see mindfulness as having at least two parts—a dedicated time for practicing mindfulness (Morning works well for me.) and anchors and rituals to return to mindfulness at key times (such as meals) throughout the day.
  2. Breathing exercises: While breathing exercises are part of my morning and pre-meal mindfulness practices, I also employ them throughout the day in moments of stress, times when I need or want increased focus and when I want to reset my mood and mindset. Noticing the breath, intentionally deepening and slowing the breath and practicing particular breathing patterns can all facilitate a return to equanimity.
  3. Empowered movement: Setting an intention for exercise and reflecting on that intention throughout a movement session often evokes feelings of relaxation, peace, gratitude and even joy or euphoria, after a long, stressful day. I can literally feel the weight of the day lift from my body on a good bike ride, where I am really focused on my intention for the ride. Any kind of physical activity can serve this purpose.
  4. Powerful words: I have mentioned in previous posts how much I love quotes. I have collected them for years and refer to my volumes (I just started my sixth blank book!) at several points throughout the day to find words that speak to me in the moment. If I do this before an opportunity to think—like a bike ride, drive or shower—I will contemplate the quote or use it as a mantra during that activity. It is amazing what insight can come from this practice. It often allows me to reset and steady myself in the face of life’s winds.

Appreciating the Winds

“Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms you would never see the true beauty of their carvings.”—Elisabeth Kubler Ross

As difficult as it can be in the moment, we have much to gain, and a better chance at achieving equanimity, if we can find appreciation for the winds of life that batter us. It may not be so much that we appreciate the winds or challenges themselves, but that we recognize that they are a big part of what makes us who we are.

I find that riding into 35- or 40-mph wind for hours, while not exactly fun, is much more bearable when I remind myself that the winds are making me stronger and increasing my mental toughness. I often draw back on previous experience facing brutal headwinds or holding my line in the assault of crosswinds. I tell myself, “This is tough, but it is not as tough as the Satanta to Ashland day (an infamous day on Biking Across Kansas 2006).” I finished that day (and then sank, exhausted, onto the school bathroom floor to nurse my 1-year-old son), so I know that I have it in me to survive other ordeals.

We become stronger when we face the winds and survive.

Not only that, but we are shaped and changed and made unique by our difficult experiences. Acknowledging this is not the same as asking for these trials. Like the wind in Kansas, though, they will occur. When we can appreciate them for the lessons we learn and the strength we gain, we are better able to handle them. We become more adept at staying upright and at keeping on course amid the challenges.

Adopting regular rituals and practices that allow us to return to equanimity positions us on a peaceful platform to reflect on, and benefit from, the growth that we can achieve through courageously pedaling forward in life’s wind.