After Years of Biking and Selfishness
After years of biking, I’ve come to realize that it’s been as much a journey of self-discovery as it’s been a method of getting from point A to point B. There’s something raw about the feel of the wind and the rhythmic turning of the pedals. It’s just me, my bike, and the road ahead. For years, I cherished this freedom, savoring the solitude and the escape from responsibilities—often to the detriment of other parts of my life.
In a way, biking became an excuse for selfishness. It was too easy to say, “I’ll be back later,” and vanish for hours. I was so wrapped up in the sense of freedom that I barely noticed the calls and messages left unanswered or the promises quietly broken. There was always just one more mile to ride, one more hill to climb. Every trip, every trail, each new road was a personal conquest, a little victory that belonged only to me.
But now, as I look back, I wonder if all the miles were worth what I lost along the way. The people I left waiting, the plans I postponed. I see now that I took a lot but gave little in return. The rush of the ride became a mask for my unwillingness to share, to compromise, to be present.
Years on, I realize that biking taught me more than just how to move forward. It showed me the importance of balance—not just on the bike but in life. Now, I’m learning to share the road and, maybe more importantly, to share myself.
