A loveletter to my bike

I fear, dear one, that our relationship is uneven.
You’re my best friend. There for me on the worst of days, making the best of days just that much better. But I rarely ask how you’re doing, what’s new in your love life (and I know you’ve got your eye on a couple of bikes. My new blue one, A’s red one), what problem you want to work on on today’s long-ride. Because that’s what you do, dear friend. You allow me to mull my problems. You give me the time and space to examine all sides of the issue. And boy have there been some issues this year.

Most importantly, you’ve let me come into my own. You’ve let me connect to my body in a way that I didn’t know was possible. 23 years of being disembodied, being ashamed and hateful left me disconnected and numb. But you slowly and surely let me come into my body. You let me feel alive in a way I didn’t know I was missing. You freed me from the shackles of a society and a personal history that taught me to hate myself. And for that, I will always love you.

Liberation, it turns out, comes on two wheels.

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