on fear

Last Sunday, my husband walked into the room and said, come for a ride on the bike with me. We’ll go to Somis Market, share a chili relleno burrito, and come home.

This statement paralyzed me, but for some reason I found myself saying “yes” before I thought too hard about it.

He’d been buttering me up for a few years about getting on the motorcycle. Trying to get me to take lessons. Or at least take a short ride with him.

But I’d always said no.

I don’t know why I said yes. Maybe because a habit in my life I’m trying to form is to stay open. Maybe because like stone stairs in Europe, I was worn down—from the idea of it, from the day, from whatever.

At any rate, I soon realized what I said—that I’d agreed, and he seemed as surprised as me—and started moving on autopilot. Getting on jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. Finding close-toed shoes—I ended up wearing oxblood Doc Martens and feeling slightly like a punk. Putting on a nerd hoodie from the Los Angeles Natural History Museum.

And the whole time I was getting ready, I felt like I was this robot. Move here. Pick up item. Put on.

But robots don’t have feelings, right? So the analogy doesn’t work. Or perhaps I was a scared, trembling robot. My hands were moving, but I felt like I was going to barf. And I started thinking about all these horrible things. All of the motorcycle accidents I’ve seen or heard about. All the terrible stories.

Seriously, I was going to make myself cry. Or sick. Or both.

I almost went out and said to him, we can drive around the block and that’s enough.

And then I remembered something.

I remembered this Will Smith talk about skydiving. https://youtu.be/VsTBCQ2MnRM

You should listen to it because he’s a marvelous storyteller. So, stop and watch it.

But Imma spoil it here:

Basically, Will Smith says that he agreed to go skydiving in Dubai with his friends one kinda wild night, regretted the decision immediately, spent the whole night fretting, hoped no one would show up, couldn’t eat breakfast, was freaking out in the van ride there and then when he actually was pushed out the plane, had the best, most glorious soaring feeling. And then he wondered why he was so scared in his bed or at breakfast or in the van because nothing was dangerous at that time. He was so safe in his bed and at breakfast and in the van. And when he was actually doing something dangerous, it was glorious. He says everything you want is on the other side of fear.

But I what I applied from his talk was to tell myself, as I was sitting in my bedroom, lacing up my boots, was that I was totally safe and I needed to get out of my head. I needed to stop catastrophizing. In my bedroom, I wasn’t going to get hit by a motorcycle or a car. (For the record, my bedroom is on the second story in a house in flat ground in the country, so it would be really unlikely. I have more chance of winning the lottery without buying a ticket.)

So, I quite literally acknowledged my fear. And did it anyway.

Just because I gave myself the Will Smith pep talk didn’t mean all my fears evaporated. They were dispelled, but then they came back. Kind of like how a huge wave hits the shore, then retreats, but another one comes, just with less power. I shooed it back, and the fear returned. I shooed it back again.

Once outside, still trembling but less so, my husband gave me a short safety lesson (don’t touch the exhaust, don’t lean into the curves), and I put on his spare helmet and off we went.

To tell the truth, we got to Laura’s house three blocks away and I almost asked him to turn back. Because that was enough to prove that I could get on the damned thing.

But I didn’t. I kept thinking about how this was the experience. Being scared. Feeling the wind and the movement and noise of the bike. How if I wanted to write a character on a motorcycle, it would be good if I had a better idea of what it was like. (To be fair, I’d ridden one once before in college to go to the movies with a boy. It was the sum total of one mile down a street with no turns, 25 mph speed limit, and one mile back. Not scary. I also recall him cooking me dinner of top ramen that he added frozen veg to. Don’t know why I remember the dinner and the ride equally, but I don’t remember what movie we saw.)

Still, I kept my eyes shut for I’d say more than 90 percent of the ride to the market. I could tell where we were because I know the road so well. I could feel and sort of see the sun beating on my closed eyelids. And the smells—eucalyptus, skunk, trash, more trees. It felt so exposed to the elements. Wind and sun and just out in the earth without the protection of a car.

At any rate, we made it to Somis Market. I opened my eyes. I told him that while I wasn’t loving every second of the ride, I trusted him. (And I do.) And I’d made peace with being scared. We took a selfie.

We ate lunch on the curb outside the market because the dining room’s closed. Drank a Mexi-Coke. Sipped some water.

And I kept my eyes open 90 percent of the way home.