#1 — Worst Mistake of My Life? (first 24hrs on the bike)
Is this the worst mistake I have ever and will ever make?
Is this the best decision of my life and one for which I will forever be grateful?
Will I make it?
Fear, Fear, Fear.
The narrative is fear and the narrative is popular.
Most of the people who love and care for me have spent the last few weeks telling me new ways each day how I am making a major mistake in attempting this ride to Patagonia.
Their advice comes off as thinly-veiled reminders of how stupid of an endeavor this is; and therein, how foolish I am.
I waver between a sickening, numbing, doubt-ridden drought of fear and the confidence that this is how I want to spend my life right now. This is how I want to spend my karma, resources, time, attention, physical presence, endurance, and libido (because why not spend that too?).
I am a wreck and I am still moving forward.
Baby Steps.
Thanks, Bob (or actually, his therapist).
If you haven’t seen What About Bob with Bill Murray, “baby steps” is a term the movie introduces as a way for Bob (Bill) to work through his mountain of crippling anxieties.
My mountain of anxieties is stretched out over the 20k miles of roads between myself and my proposed destination of Patagonia in Argentina. And the mountain is no less mountainous for being stretched so far.
The only way I operate in the face of such overwhelming fear, unknowns, and constant feedback from family and friends telling me this is a bad idea, is by taking… baby steps. Baby steps down this road, baby steps to the next sleeping place, baby steps to the Mexican border.
Baby steps through my rollercoaster of emotions.
Don’t Think. Just Do.
I am a chronic overthinker.
When I lived in Los Angeles during my undergraduate years, I took the bus everywhere. The good old Metro (720 and 20 were my go-to routes).
Any time I took the bus to a new destination, I spent whatever amount of time needed to fully memorize the final stretches of the route in order to be able to KNOW when my stop was. This way, the least amount of anxiety would enter my life as a product of having to look out the windows with uncertainty (god forbid people see I look uncertain) or (GOD FORBID) ask someone what stop was next…!!
I even made note of which direction I needed to turn immediately upon disembarking from the bus… so that there would be no hesitation, no uncertainty, no unknowns.
I planned my life as fully as possible in order to avoid all unknowns, all anxiety, all risk and danger that comes with moving in the unknown.
Now, riding down some back road in central California lost in thought, I have to remind myself that too much thinking, too much analysis, too much worrying is simply unnecessary torture I am heaping upon myself.
Once my thoughts turn into a merry-go-round, I have to remind myself, don’t think, just do.
Doing.
Doing looks like finishing a stretch of highway without letting my thoughts turn dark.
Doing looks like reaching a place to sleep that night and not worrying about where I might sleep in two weeks.
Doing looks like wanting to make it into Mexico before I start worrying about crossing the Darien gap between Panama and Colombia.
I am now clinging to doing like a life raft in a tossing, churning, turning sea of doubt and fear.
The only thing I can focus on right now is doing. Doing myself right across that border. Ok, that didn’t sound right but you get my drift, right?
