I don’t usually preface these, but in this case I will. Many who read this will be upset by what I’ve written, will consider me anti-American, and probably have some choice words for me. That’s cool — I’ll still like you.
There’s just this idea that I’ve been chewing on lately, and I can’t let go of. If nothing else, perhaps sharing it will get it out of my system so I can move onto the next idea that people will look down on me for having.
I’m constantly trying to make sense these days, of how Americans with opposing views treat each other, of how we prioritize the values we’re willing to stand up for, and how far we’re willing to go just to make a point and be heard. And when I look at the growing divisions between us in everything from our politics to our moral values, I think it all arises from a single sentence…
“Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”
God, I hate that sentence.
That idea, to me, has always seemed rigged. To put individual liberty first, ahead of the whole of society as a cornerstone of our righteous doctrine, is like building a ship with a sturdy hull, and purposely leaving a small hole in it — just to see what will happen, and hoping nothing does.
And though the Declaration Of Independence is not a governing doctrine, and that sentence itself is not in our constitution, nor is it guaranteed by any laws or codes that I am aware of, it is a part of our national identity — it’s something most have come to expect as a right of American citizenship…
“Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”
I don’t care what side of the political fence one is on, I think that ideal is at the core for much of what ails us these days.
I know it’s too late now, but I wish read more like this…
Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness, keeping in mind that the life of our society is more precious and more important than any one constituent.
Once again, Confucianism gets it right.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This Week By The Numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
168 miles
7.900’ climbing
15.2 mph avg
9,600 calories
11 hours 03 minutes seat time
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Sonny Landreth. Enjoy…
It’s Father’s Day. My daughter is now 29 — the age I was when she was born. She lives 2,734 miles from me, so we won’t be having brunch today. We will share food though. At some point today I’ll send her some money electronically so she and her partner can order dinner in — on Dad. I’ll also call her and thank her for being a fine daughter and an outstanding person.
Father’s Day isn’t about me. It’s about her. I learned that lesson late, but hopefully not too late.
I’ll just be pedaling along, in tune with the rhythm of the road and enjoying the cool air against my skin when it just pops into my head — a regret from days gone down. Most everything I regret has to do with divorce, being a father, and being a son. Regrets, unlike mistakes, aren’t forgivable, not for me anyway. My regrets always seem to involve the people I love. That residue lingers.
I heard some wisdom recently that I’d never heard before — I’ve been chewing on it as Father’s Day has approached. It came from the philosopher, Jonathan Rowson, in an interview for the radio show On Being. Rowson, reflecting on advice somebody gave him before the birth of his first child, said this…
“If you want to be a good father, the best thing that you can do is become a better husband…”
Now as simple and straightforward as that sounds, I’d never heard it before. I know I hadn’t heard it before because if I had, I would have remembered it. Whether I would have headed it or not, is something else. But statements like that are indelible.
Sadly, it never occurred to me that as a new father, the best thing I could have done would be to become a better husband. It makes so much sense in hindsight. But nobody told me.
So as I pedaled through the hills last night on the eve of Father’s Day, and as I sped past the vineyards and the orchards that decorate this community so sweetly, I stumbled onto a lingering regret and chewed on it for a while. I regret that as a younger man I wasn’t a better husband, and as such, to become a better father.
So if you’re reading this as an expecting father or as a recent father, please head the advice — like I said, it’s pretty straightforward. It might truly shape the life of a child, the life of a mother, and extend the life of a family.
And you’re an older father, all too familiar with the taste of regret, don’t wait for Father’s Day to come to you this year — it isn’t about you. Use this day to be a better father by being a better husband.
Nobody told me.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This Week By The Numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
201 miles
9,250’ climbing
15.3 mph avg
11,500 calories
13 hours 10 minutes seat time
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there this from Puddle Of Mudd. Enjoy…
With the police being so much in the news lately, my riding-mind has been revisiting a slice of my life from 35 years ago. In my early 20s, before enlisting in the United States Coast Guard, but after my time working with Nautilus Fitness Centers, I applied to a four-year law enforcement program at Mesa College (now Colorado Mesa University) in Grand Junction Colorado. The year I applied was the inaugural year of the program.
It was a unique program for a couple of reasons, not the least of which was four-year law enforcement programs weren’t common in the early 1980s. It also stood out because the entire curriculum was to be taught by one man, a retired police Lieutenant and psychologist named Paul LaChance.
I’d made one trip to Grand Junction to meet LaChance prior to enrolling in the program. He spent an hour with me, we connected well, and I felt that I could count on him to help me through the program. As a reading challenged student, the ability to connect with his human side was important.
There were roughly a dozen students enrolled in the program, though at 21, I was the oldest in the group. Still, I was fearful I might not have the fortitude to stick it out for four years, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life teaching people how to do squats and lat-pulldowns.
On the first day of class I took my seat among the other students when a man entered the room and addressed the class. He had long hair, glasses, wore a sloppy suit, and began to speak…
He explained that LaChance, the man who was supposed to teach the program, had cut deep into one of his arms with a tablesaw a few days prior. He was hospitalized indefinitely. The man speaking was a local attorney and former police officer who agreed to cover for LaChance until his return. I honestly don’t remember his name.
What I do remember is that after the first few weeks of classes, I found myself unengaged and unable to receive his lectures. It didn’t help that he wasn’t available for assistance after classes due to the legal practice he also maintained. The assigned reading became more important since the substitute wasn’t as prepared as LaChance. I found the whole thing difficult to the point of exasperation.
One month in, we were told LaChance wouldn’t return until the following semester. The first semester would be  facilitated by the substitute. On learning this, I immediately quit attending classes, but didn’t officially drop out of school until the end of the semester — so I could continue living in the dorms rather than return home to get a job.
The following spring I enlisted in the United States Coast Guard thinking that, absent of any related degree, it would be a logical steppingstone to a law enforcement career. Anything, so I wouldn’t have to teach squats and lat-pulldowns for a living.
Simple twists of fate — we swim within them all day long. They surround us like parallel universes with on and off ramps that we continually traverse, but never actually see.
When I’m out there riding, hiding from the ills of the day, and when I’m pushing my body as both meditation and medication, I sometimes wonder what my life would have become had Mr. LaChance not cut into his arm with a tablesaw prior to the start of that program. Perhaps I would’ve completed the program and proceeded into a law enforcement career. Maybe not.
The events of this week have had me questioning how I would respond to peaceful protesters, and those not so peaceful. I’m short-tempered by nature, and well into my 30s I was aggressive, if not combative, with anyone who might have disagreed with me. In hindsight, it’s easy to see I wouldn’t have been a very good police officer, especially in matters of dealing with crowds, but probably in most other matters too.
Apparently fate got this one right. Each day, in-between teaching squats and lat-pulldown‘s, I get to ride my bike and take it all in. I landed where I’m supposed to be.
This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb
This Week By The Numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 6
194 miles
9,100’ climbing
14.6 mph avg
10,900 calories
13 hours 16 minutes seat time
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there this from The Vulgar Boatmen. Enjoy…
When I think of piecrust, I think of three women — my late mother-in-law, her daughter (my former wife), and our daughter. Each made incredible piecrust, the recipe passed down from the generations above. To this day, their piecrusts stand out from any others I’ve tasted.
I think about that all the time, but not in a way that necessarily causes me to crave pie. Rather, in a way that reminds me how to live. You see, those three women not only made excellent piecrust, but each has embodied the roles and characteristics of piecrust as they lived their lives.
Wait, what…?
Piecrust is the ultimate support system.
Though it has its own distinct flavor, piecrust isn’t and never tries to be the star of the show. Piecrust lays low and attempts to blend in. Despite its importance, piecrust would rather you remember the filling.
Piecrust has to be strong. By weight, piecrust is usually a fraction that which sit on top of it, but it must hold the whole thing together. If the piecrust fails, then there is no pie, only stew. In that sense, piecrust must have a strong back and a constant presence.
Piecrust is good with being anonymous. It doesn’t require its name to be on the marquee, it seeks only to be appreciated. When pie receives a complement, piecrust is satisfied and humbled, knowing it did its part.
Piecrust, good piecrust anyway, isn’t complicated. It consists of just a few basic ingredients. The key to good piecrust is assembling those ingredients properly and never in haste.
I could go on, but I think you get the point. In a world where so many people attempt to stand out, take credit, steal the show, and take more than they give, perhaps more of us could attempt to live like piecrust. It’s no coincidence that the three women I know who made the best piecrust I’ve ever had, also lived their lives like the piecrust they made.
Blend in.
Be strong.
Pursue appreciation, not stardom.
Be simple.
These are the characteristics that make good piecrust, and good people.
This is what I think about when I ride…. Jhciacb
This Week By The Numbers…
Bikes Ridden: 7
185 miles
9,200’ climbing
15.5 mph avg
10,500 calories
11 hours 59 minutes seat time
Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there this from Spain. Enjoy…
The Spoke And Word™ 