Living in the Fast Lane

"Be the change you wish to see in the world"


Life comes at you fast you know. Sometimes it comes at you at 37 miles per hour on your bike and sometimes in the form of 4 years in a place that's been your second home. 


Let's start with my new speed P.R. though shall we? I went biking this week (as per usual) but something special separated Wednesday from most normal bicycling days. You see the wind was 22 miles per hour. Which...when  you're going 20mph on a bike, is really quite horrendous. So I decided to gain a psychological advantage over the wind and over myself. I did the first 20 miles of my bike ride into that ridiculousness. Literally, I was killing myself just to maintain 13mph. 


I am a soft spoken, easy-going person, I don't use foul language. But after 20 miles I couldn't take it anymore. I actually cursed at the wind. Just picture it. I'm on a country road in the middle of nowhere. No town, no houses. Just me, and my bike. I pull off to the side of the road and get off my bike. I stare at the sky. And I yell curse words that no one can hear into a wind who's howls drown out my words.

And then I turn around. Just like that the wind and I are friends again. My 13mph of struggling turns into 25mph of flying. As I turned a corner I went down a hill, that on the way out I managed to climb at 10mph. On the way back I switched into a big gear, leaned down on my bike and pedaled. I looked down at my odometer/speedometer and saw that it read 37 miles per hour. Which is pretty legitimately fast for a car, much less a bicycle where the only thing between me and death if I fall is my 40 dollar helmet. But in that moment, I didn't feel like I thought I would. I didn't feel any fear, I didn't think about falling off. All I thought about is that this must-MUST-be what flying feels like.

As for the years flying by, a scary realization hit me this week. I was sitting in the chapel of my school thinking of a day about 5 years ago. As a senior in high school, I had sat in the very same chapel on my very first college visit. During that college visit I realized that this place was where I was meant to be. Never before had  I felt such a strong feeling about where I needed to be. This past Wednesday I sat in almost the exact same place in that exact same chapel, almost exactly five years ago and I realized that in this same place I have to decide where to go next. The overwhelming sense of irony at the situation caused my to tear up a bit, as I realized that my time at this place where if felt so strongly that I needed  to be has now come to an end. Furthermore, I no longer feel like this is where I need to be. Which is scary. And yet exhilarating. Just like flying down that hill. What else is scary is that I got "that feeling" at one of the schools (I'm not telling you which) that I needed to be there regardless of anything else. Just an innate feeling of what I should do. Call it a hunch, or intuition, or a calling. Whatever it may be I've felt it twice in my life and the first time I had it I was right.

So now to the decision: Do I stay in Wisconsin and go to the PsyD. program here? My family, my friends, my world is here. Or do I pack up my belongings and journey to California and have an adventure all to myself for the next five years?

Talk about going scary fast.