Riding makes me think about how fast life is flying by. I live in a perpetual state of angst about this. So much to do, so little time. It's an old tired cliche but it's truer now, at least for me. I have no idea how much time I have left. I'll be forty-nine in September and while there are days when I still think I'm bullet-proof and have all the time in the world to do whatever I want, there's this old hag called mortality jabbering in my ear telling me that just the opposite is closer to reality.
The thing I stress most about is that I have had two careers in my life - one pursued out of religious and family expectations, the other out of sheer financial need - and I've enjoyed neither of them. Twenty-three years is a very long time to go through the motions but that's my reality. Maybe tomorrow is the day I discover what it is I really want to do. But what if it never happens? What if I die wishing for something different? What if I never get to experience the feeling that my talents and passions are put to good use? It's disturbing and sad to think about it in that way.
That's why I keep hoping. I told someone just recently that I would love to spend the rest of my days cooking and cycling. Cooking and cycling. Food and road bikes. Culinary arts and... road bikes. What would this look like? A restaurant in front with a bike shop in the back? Or the other way around? Or a destination restaurant where the dress code includes bike shorts and a helmet?
Not sure. What I do know is that when I ride I think about it. Then I go home and cook and think about it more.
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