Sunday, June 12, 2011

Fear of dying.

It was frightening to realize last night while lying in bed that when I do speak up these days, it is usually in a series of anecdotes relating to the past. Am I regressing by holding on to whom I knew I was then? Probably. Life in Montreal is challenging in areas I didn't think to prepare for. Thankfully, the constant passing of time makes forward motion inevitable.

I need to leave the house more, go beyond the neighborhoods surrounding the Mile End, push further to the east, the west, north, south; exploring both on foot and on my bicycle. What am I afraid of? Truthfully, I am afraid of being killed while riding; seeing my own death fast approaching, an accident scene unfolding before it happens. I don't live in constant fear, but I push the thought of death away nearly every time I swing into the saddle. That probably seems silly, but it is true. More often that not, I opt to walk in lieu of riding out of fear. Not sure when the spook will pass, but I trust that it will.

Aunty Marj, you are deeply missed this morning.

1 comment:

  1. Some fear is good, as long as it isn't debilitating. I was at the top of a glorious half-hour rollercoaster downhill through the forest and announced loudly to my riding buddies: "my goal today is to not hurt myself." Saying it loud made it feel more like a promise.