And this is when I think of metaphors again, and what they can mean. And how just simply riding, trying, being has taught me so much about myself. Faced with impossible odds—not training, wind, rain, hail, lightning, I chose to continue anyway. Despite the fires that rage in our political climate, in the literal world, in our inner selves, my teammates chose to ride this race anyway. Despite sadness, isolation, fear— we decided to ride and to face the unknown, together.

I’ve got to be honest with you: working from home in absolute isolation is really taking its toll on me in unexpected ways. On my social media accounts, I’ve joked that graduate school—in particular the MFA degree— really prepared me to live in lockdown because we only had classes one day a week— the rest of our time was supposed to be devoted to writing. And for me, it basically was. So, I’ve spent large swaths of my life sitting in front of a white screen and blinking cursor, watching the words pour out of me (or just watching the white when they don’t.) This, though, is different.

I choose to believe that the lettuce seedlings I’ve planed—that sprouted just today— are the better metaphor than the car break-in I discovered today. Granted, life won’t be easy in this new uncertain world, but those little seeds are willing to fight through cold and wind in the tiny greenhouse I bought.

A funny thing happened today: I came home early tonight after a CT class at Great Basin Bicycles (in which I almost puked a few times), and in the quiet dusk, the feeling of gratitude hit me pretty hard. Life, as it is, is far from perfect. And yet, despite these details as I look at the profusion of indoor plants that twine and wind around our walls and hang from our ceiling, the colorful walls, the beaded art from South Africa or art that friends have made for me, I see a home—a real home— that I have helped to build with these writing hands.

I started writing this blog in my head on my commute home this night from work when it wasn’t dark yet. I brought to mind the golden sunsets I’d ride my bike through, back when I was training seriously for races. The extended days, the way the bike enabled you to melt into the world or to escape from it. The endless beauty of sunrises and sunsets and how you’re alone out there, pedaling with the crunch of the road dirt as the only sound as you climb.

It is sort of crazy that I’m trying to raise money for the Arthritis Foundation as I literally struggle (emphasis on the word “struggle”) to pay off my student loans and not end up on the street because I can’t meet all my other financial obligations.I can’t do that, though. Those inflicted with arthritis can’t do that. Every day, they live with the struggle and inconvenience of their condition, even if it impacts their ability to work, to move (physically) and to enjoy their lives. I signed up for this commitment to help Carter and his family and others like him, and even if I am this big loser who’s never written anything “great”, whatever: I’m not throwing in the towel for this cause— not ever.