"Progress"

A few days ago, I decided to lose the trip computer my bike has been carrying around since I started riding. The nifty little device has been keeping me informed of the time any given trip took, as well as current, maximum and average speeds. When I first got the gizmo, its intended use was to keep track of my "progress" on the bike. That was, until "progress" took over, and I was continually trying to beat my previous record. I'd get annoyed at people walking on the wrong side of the bike path, because it meant I had to slow down to get around them. Actually, I'd get annoyed at anyone or anything which slowed me down (including sometimes the wind!) or caused me to use my breaks.

After reading Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now", which explains that time is an illusion and we're better off living in the now, it seemed silly to keep track of riding and comparing my results to my past results. This may make sense if you're an athlete, but I'm not, and so it doesn't. So I retired the nifty little device from active duty, as well as the spreadsheet which kept track of each trip's "progress". I ride calmer now, I ride more in the now, I no longer get annoyed at people slowing me down. In fact, I even nod them a hello.

Today, I tried to ride in the now as much as possible. I found my usual commute to be different. On the outside I just ride a bit slower and I concentrate on riding rather than on beating my previous best. However, on the inside this same trip, which I've done a hundred times, was vastly different. I'd always thought most of the streets along which I ride were rather ordinary, some of them even ugly. Today I saw no ugly roads, but beautiful tree lined streets. It presented itself as a concrete strip (which, as part of our city's infrastructure is something amazing) enshrined with lots of beautiful green trees, shrubs and plants in between the houses.

On beach road, I was accompanied by a seagull for a minute or so and it felt quite spiritual. I stopped at a bench overlooking the bay. Something I've done before, but again, the way I experienced the view this time was different. The view was, besides magnificent, vibrant and alive. I've never felt a view to be so alive. I had a beautiful warm southerly wind in my face, the sound of the waves, the sound of the grass on the cliff being caressed by the wind. I remember thinking, I'd love to be that grass, because I thought I could feel what it was like to be that grass.

And all of that because I gave up on making "progress" on the bike.