I remember the first time I decided to go on a bike ride during quarantine. I slowly grew tired of seeing the same baby blue walls and the sanded-down popcorn ceiling of my ever-shrinking room. The theme songs of a multitude of different TV shows soon became the new soundtrack of my life and I knew I needed a change. One can only binge watch TV, mull over ten thousand piece puzzles, and bake delicious, but sometimes too sweet sweets so many times before their body begins to feel the urge for something new; and a couple of weeks in, that annoyance at the constant routine happened exactly to me. I began to believe that my days were going to be spent with my bloodshot eyes trained on a buzzing screen or staring at a piece of paper covered in ink markings that started to make less and less sense as the hours went on. My routine consisted of schoolwork and little hobbies that began to feel menial and so, I decided to change up my daily routine and crack out the old bicycle.

I entered the backroom in the garage, greeted by a thick cloud of dust and dirt that had been stirred up from the movement of the door opening. I walked over to my old bike and crouched down to feel the tires, which were, of course, so flat that if I had tried to ride off into the sunset I would have fallen off before the first rotation of the pedals. They were completely drained of life, so it was my duty to pump some vibrancy back into them. After several minutes of strenuous pumping, the muscles in my arms began to ache and I could feel calluses forming on my palms, just below my fingers. Finally, the tires were back to their former glory and I was ready to head out. In the beginning, I didn't really have a plan on where I wanted to go but I knew that I just had to get pedaling and see where my bike would take me. I started out with the notion that I could go anywhere. I took a route that I had frequented with my friends in the past and memories soon came flooding back as the wind whipped through my hair and its chill caused goosebumps to raise up on my arms and legs. Even though that cold surrounded me, I felt as though that moment was the first time, in a while, that I could fully breathe. I kept going, my legs circling but never tiring as they were eager to see what would be around the next corner or across the upcoming street. This whole bike ride “thing” became my favorite pastime as I was in control of the path ahead of me but could still experience the surprise of nature. The swaying of the palm trees and the rush of adrenaline as a vibrant song blasted through my earbuds were enough to satisfy a need for adventure. Any time I started to realize I was becoming too familiar with a certain dirt path or steady row of sand-colored houses, I knew it was time to switch it up. I was never disappointed when I would go left instead of right and find myself thrust into a kaleidoscope of sunset shades. The fishy but fresh smell of the lake or the quiet silence being broken only by the cicadas who sang a song whenever I passed the field of my old elementary school. The sight of typically dull windows being lit up by hues of reds and yellows and purples. These are times that I have realized I will never grow tired of.  I would never get tired of those bike rides and I realized that if I could control where I went on these excursions, I could control where I will go in the future. 

I would be lying if I said these bike rides were perfect and had absolutely zip, zilch, zero, no terrible moments. Over time I learned that when the sun would fully set and the pretty hues and lights disappeared into a nervous blackness it was time to head home. My eyes would start to warily watch every shadow, my brain picking out all of the possible hiding spots, waiting for someone to jump out at me. My times of bliss were over and it was time to return back home for the night. I really learned my lesson when I was riding back after sunset only to fly right into a hoard of bugs. I could feel as the little bodies flew into my mouth and up my nose and recounting the feeling alone is enough to make me feel sick. After these moments, I learned that after the sunset was over, it was time to return to a place of safety with the reassurance that the sun would soon set again the next day. 

Many times people feel as if they have no control over their lives as if it has already been planned out since the day they were born. Whether that be because of certain circumstances or feelings that have arisen from different times in their lives, at some point or another everyone will feel as if they are holding the handlebars, but have no control over the steering. The feeling as though they are stuck on the same route every day. The thing is, life is so much more freeing when you truly think about the fact that you have some sort of control over how your present and future pan out. If you live your life believing that everything happens for a reason, you become complacent. Sure, it makes all of the bad things that happen not so bad but it also extinguishes the good times. Intense moments of happiness, pride, and contentment all chalked up to some preplanned plan instead of the products of your own hard work and determination. You should be able to take credit for your victorious moments rather than let them pass on a whim. This being said, whenever you find yourself watching the shadows or face first in a sea of buzzing flies, remember that those moments are all part of the ride and you can always take refuge at a safe place as long as you do not miss out on the sunset the next day.

Some may say that you do not have any control and everything in your life is planned out…but isn't it so much better to believe that you have a choice? Life is certainly what you make of it and just like a bike ride, nothing is ever set in stone. There is always a new sidewalk you can take or a street you can cross in order to switch from a well-worn path to one that is full of new opportunities and experiences.