bend it like bravery

When i would ride on the back of D's motorcycle, the rule of thumb when going around curves on the road was to lean into them. That was about the only thing i had to remember to do as a passenger (next to not, ya know, screaming and pointing and causing us to run into anything). It was a simple thing, yet weirdly challenging because the time to lean the most was when we were going around hairpin turns. The kind that felt as if your knees might actually scrape the ground. And instead of following the natural instinct to pull back from what felt dangerous, you were meant to go toward it while the engine revved steadily to take the cycle round the bend.

This occurs to me now as a pretty excellent metaphor for life in general. I'm finding that facing inner situations that make me want to pull back in the other direction are actually better served when i actually bend my whole self into them while keeping my eyes open. Suddenly i'm meeting the moment head-on. And that's all it is, a moment. None of the crazy shit that i've made up in my head comes true. I realize i'm fine, no matter what. And then the next moment comes. My sense of safety becomes expanded because i realize i've made it through the turns and i'm ok. In some cases, even better. Sometimes exactly the same. Occasionally sporting some bruises or a scar, but no matter, those can be fun to tell stories about and eventually fade with time.

Talking to my mom this weekend, she was telling me about some this&that of which she has real fear around, yet she was always aware not to show that fear to me (except for the aforementioned post regarding the ferris wheel), and i think that served me well. I don't remember having a whole lot of terror around trying something new, even remembering the time i was on a horse when we were on vacation that got spooked by something and ran willy-nilly off the beaten track and through bushes, backyards, outhouses and i don't remember what all. In fact, all i remember is hanging on. I don't even have a memory of how long it went on or where the horse eventually stopped. For me, moments like that have a way of completely wiping your brain free. There's no room for thinking, it's all just survival. And boy did i lean into that one, i even think my eyes were open (possibly my mouth, too). Obviously the horse stopped. Clearly i lived to write about it. Woo-hoo, saddle up my pony.

The interesting thing is when it's a choice to feel the knife's edge. To lean a little closer to the proverbial blade just to see what enlightenment may come. I think when moving toward an otherwise scary place inside, that the intention to learn must be front and center. I was always fascinated by mr. eVedder's absolute physical abandon during the early PearlJam live shows. Witness the photos below (clearly I'm obsessed with these Lance Mercer shots). As i understand it, these are the kind of moves that inspired the concert halls where the band would play to charge about a thousand-percent more insurance so as not to be liable for him killing/hurting himself. It didn't matter what his inner circle said about Please Don't Hang From The Rafters Tonight, he'd still do it. I always thought of it as a kind of trust vs. test. Would he be caught by his fans, crew, band? Or would they all stand back and watch him come down hard? The answer to that question was never put to the test, because over time E stopped climbing, scaling, swinging in the air. In fact he had almost slowed to a complete halt the last time i saw them, tho his voice still filled up all that space.


When i think about leaning into the moment, trusting that i'll be ok, a lot of it has to do with exposure. The need to let myself go through without any preconceived idea regarding how things might turn out or how i might look to others. To stay planted there, no flinching. Lean in closer. Look it in the eye. Scraped knees? who cares. And when i try to cover myself, hide away, fine, go there, but i know i'll feel the hot breath of my life on my face no matter.