I was cycling to work this morning and my bike made an unhealthy popping sound. I stubbornly continued to cycle at full speed but it became increasingly more difficult, and after thirty seconds the front of my bike was literally dragging itself with all its might. I felt its pain. I have been that wheel some mornings, so with that in mind, I dismounted gracefully and walked the rest of the way to work.
As I locked my bike up for the day, I was annoyed. My bike was BROKEN. I had only purchased Brené three weeks ago and now she was BROKEN. Images of lugging her home on the U-Bahn in 28 degree heat flashed through my mind and I felt a bead of imaginary sweat crawl uninvited down my face. I already had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have a bad day, and no amount of coffee or good luck was going to change that.
Cut to 6pm. After discovering there was a bike shop next door to my office, I had built up the courage, after thinking about it all day, to take sweet BrenĂ© to bicycle hospital. I waited (patiently, yes me, patient) in the queue to the service center, my mouth mask providing more insulation than ventilation. I had dragged the grey cloud along with me which I had been sitting under most of the day and I was convinced that my terrible German and bad mood was going to turn this situation into a disaster. I was next up! Here goes… ‘sprichst du Englisch’… The guy looked back at me and said ‘I speak English, how can I help’…. Excellent, hurdle one complete. And I began to explain my morning ordeal, pointing at my floppy wheel in the hope that he would take pity and do something manly to get her fixed up, and looking sharp. And he did. He wheeled her off into the treatment room and I was shocked, this was all going too well, something was bound to go wrong. I waited, and he returned her with all her dignity back in tact. Success!
I popped my helmet on, because not only am I patient these days, but I am also safe. Safety first kids! And I began to cycle home. After a minute or two in the saddle, a wave of panic engulfed me like a tsunami. Did he fix it properly… what if the tyre blows again as I am hurtling full speed… what if my bike snaps in half and I die….
After stopping twice at the side of the road to squeeze my tyres to make sure they were still sufficiently plump (I did it as casually as possible so I looked professional), I gave myself a pep talk. My bike was never BROKEN, it was just a small part of it which needed a little TLC. It really wasn’t the end of the world, and I am now able to safely move forward on my journey home.
It made me realize that for such a long time I have allowed myself to believe that I am broken. I have spent such a long time convincing myself that I should have everything figured out and that because certain parts of my life are not totally solid, or polished and shiny, that I am not complete. And that is wrong! And toxic! And unhealthy!
Just because you don’t have everything figured out does not mean you are unsuccessful. It does not mean that you are not doing a great job or that you have failed. Having a few cracks here and there is perfectly healthy, and is all part of the journey. You’re not perfect, and that is ok, that’s how it should be. Nobody has all of their shit together, all of the time. And if they say they do, then they are lying.
Having a flat tyre doesn’t mean that your whole bike is broken.
Shout out to my therapist Catherine and my business coach Lauren who have supported me through alot of change and have allowed me to realize some of things- you are diamonds.