The Real Question

Although I have lost none of the angst that instigated melodrama in my previous post, after some reflection I realized that I never really got at the thing that I wanted to say. What I did say was true and valid, of course... I'm not losing confidence in this dream, exactly, but I do need a place in which to wonder what it would take to decide that enough is enough. A  wise woman who visited Geneva a few months ago said "Writing is thinking"; I know so little about the hand of God and what it means to wait for direction and trust his plan that I can't help but write.

So the real question is, how does one discover the difference between real confidence from faith and simple defense-mechanism apathy?

When I bought my motorcycle last summer, I tried (and failed) to have a few conversations with my dad about why I wanted to ride. In my father's mind the purchase was the least intelligent thing I had ever done, and my decision to continue riding the most reckless. I wrote a post in defense of my decision a few months ago, but to summarize, I honestly don't believe that it is irresponsible to ride because ultimately, you're only a safe as God keeps you. Every time I hit the road in any kind of vehicle I am aware of the risks, I do my best to keep my head on straight, and I know that it is God's hand that guides me through safely.

It's amazing to me that I have that kind of faith when I'm on a bike with just a thin textile jacket, jeans, and a helmet for protection, yet when it comes to resumes, cover letters, and waiting for the illusive interview I feel like James' "wave upon the sea, driven with the wind, and tossed"? Because the confidence I feel in the daytime when I'm writing and cooking and cleaning isn't always there in the evening, when the distractions have dissipated. On my bike I feel light and joyful and connected to the creation in new ways, and while I am conscientious I know that there is little I can do to keep myself safe, yet in the job hunt, every passing day makes me ask myself a few more times, "What are you doing wrong? Why didn't you do this and this and that while you were in grad school? They would make your resume worth more. Shouldn't you be calling... emailing... filling out more applications...? Why. Doesn't. Anyone. Want. Me."

Why is it so easy to be recognize grace in my successes and so difficult to wait for it in new endeavors? Why am I so quick to feel responsible for all of the things that don't work out?

Don't answer any of those questions. This isn't about me, it's about faith. It's about hearing the Holy Spirit. And it's a tiny bit about hoping that God has a plan for my career that makes me feel light and joyful and connected to the creation in new ways. (I can see it now "SOC 318: Two Wheels and Four Lanes - an inquiry into motorcycle culture in the U.S." A semester cross-country... dude, that would be awesome...) 

life is full of chances

Why did I buy a motorcycle? I never intended to. I thought I just wanted to learn how to ride (collect-a-skill, you know) and the next thing I knew I was riding to and from work and making weekend forays into scenic Ohio. Frances and I had a great summer.

When people find out that I ride a motorcycle, most take it as a cue to make some sort of comment on my character - I am brave or stupid, tough or reckless, interesting or childish. I can't really argue with any of these assessments because I am probably a little bit of all of those things. But I'd like to address them anyway, because time spent on the bike, without the radio, phone, and "frames" to distract me, is time spent in direct contact with the world and my own thoughts; it's the perfect place to expand one's philosophy of life*.

People say that riding is dangerous. A motorcycle has no frame or roof. It is balanced precariously on two wheels, and is more precarious in the case of precipitation. It has no seat belt. It has no airbags. When I climb onto my bike and take off, there is nothing but me, whatever gear I choose to wear, and the road, and then I travel at roughly 55mph, taking turns and dodging potholes, and being passed by vehicles that weigh five or ten times what Frances and I do.

I suppose you could call that dangerous.

I think this is an opportune moment for me to comment on the fact that motorcycles aren't the only dangerous way to travel. When you're driving down the road in fair weather I doubt that you think very much about it, but what exactly would you call "safe" about traveling at 80mph? Even if you are absolutely certain that you will do everything right, can you say that about the people around you? In fact, now that Pennsylvania is getting back to cold mornings and weather advisories this may be the perfect time to mention that weather alone has the ability to put our best intentions on their butts in the snow.

On a related note, at Christmas my family was talking about travel and the problems that it could create for your health insurance. "Are you sure that your health insurance will mean something in London? You make a mistake, step off a sidewalk wrong, eat the wrong food, and you could be in serious trouble." That sort of thing. In the middle of the conversation I found myself wondering how it came to be that risk elimination became the name of the game. Isn't life really about risk? Should you really not take a chance, or a trip, because all of the angles might not be covered?

I'm not saying is that riding a motorcycle isn't dangerous, I'm saying I could argue that driving a car is just as dangerous. I'm not saying don't think about the insurance, but should insurance really be the thing you think about first? If you believe in a God whose care for his creation is providential and omnipotent, do you really think that the presence or absence of airbags (literal or metaphorical) are going to make that much of a difference?

Life may be dangerous, but God is good. What do I have to fear?

I don't want to convince the world to drive recklessly, drop their insurance, or buy motorcycles. But here are some things I wish I could explain to the people who call me stupid, reckless and childish: The smell of the air when twilight touches the hills. The temperature drop that tells you there is water nearby. The soaring feeling in your soul when you drive over the crest of a hill or lean perfectly into a turn. My motorcycle is a practice of freedom and joy, not rebellion.

If you look at the world fearfully, it will seem filled with danger. You'll build up walls to insulate you from relationships, weather, experience, from all of the things that seem to make life dangerous. But if it's ultimately God's world... you can forget the danger and burn the insulation. Danger is opportunity in disguise, and life is full of chances that you never saw before.

And I think that's why I bought a motorcycle.

*case in point