At 27, I’m Still Falling Off My Bike

I knew it was a bad idea. Really, as I turned to cross the street, heading to jump the curb, the voice in my head was yelling ‘this isn’t going to go well!’

But I still did it.

And I fell.

Hard.

I scrapped up my arm, hands, both my knees and one of my hand brakes broke. I was angry, upset, and I still had a couple miles left.

My fiancé checked in to make sure I was okay and cautiously biked back with me. He could tell I was pissed and knew there was danger in too much conversation.

Even with his silence, I used the last leg of the journey to construct a narrative where the blame for my fall was placed squarely on his shoulders.

‘I was following his lead, that’s why I fell.’

‘I knew it wasn’t going to go well but I ignored my instincts for fear of looking like a wimp.’

My subconscious wrapped my wrath around him, snug and suffocating like a snake.

As I scrubbed off the dirt and tar, I tried to think when I had felt like this before. It was the other big bike accident of my life. Back in elementary school, I hurt myself in the same way, having to wear a mortifying Band-Aid on my chin at school.

While I reacquainted myself with Neosporin, I observed a commonality between my accidents: both times, I was trying to be cool.

When I was 7, I was bringing candy to my younger neighbors, thinking I was the big kid who could ride a two-wheeler and dole out treats. This inflated-sense of self led to a too-quick turn out of my driveway.

Cool factored into this weekend’s accident, based on a long-running gag between my fiancé and I that I didn’t have fun in college. I did, I just also spent a lot of time in the library and didn’t jump through windows like he did. And you know what? I’m good with never having had broken glass in my arm.

I know I can’t blame anybody else for hurting myself. And I can’t even blame them for thinking I’m not cool, because it’s a lesson as old as time; trying to live up to other people’s standards never really brings happiness or success.

I mean, for God’s sake, I’m 27 and about to get married. How can I still be hurting myself trying to look cool, especially for my fiancé? Who falls asleep to physics lectures? I don’t know who the keeper of cool is but it is certainly not him!

I feel pretty dumb to be making the same mistakes that I did at 7. But as I thought about how stupid the definition of cool is, I realized the same way I barricaded myself by other’s definitions, I do it to other people too.

For example, my mom was really proud of herself for going around London alone. She felt brave and I mocked her. I feel nasty about it now, because that was her pushing herself outside her comfort zone and feeling good. Do I really gain anything by situating myself as cooler than my mother? I think not.

If I keep on this path of trying to impress others, what happens next time? Ten years from now, I end up in the hospital trying to keep up with my children??

That’s definitely not cool.

So next time, I’m going to tighten my helmet strap and wait for a crosswalk — cool as a cucumber.

Be Open Says;

Everyone can contribute to this Open Poem!