It is a season of change. My daughter, (I was going to call her my baby girl, but she is such a stunning young lady, I can't call her that) is going off to college. My role in her life, that has been steadily and gradually changing, will suddenly will change completely, in ways yet to be seen.
As this change is happening, we have made a decision to move closer to my hubby's daughter, and settle down in Oregon for a while. Yet I remain skeptical of the idea of settling down and growing attached. We have been nomads for three years, spending every other weekend in homes 250 miles apart. The idea of living in one place, making friends with neighbors, and starting high school support over again is exciting and somewhat surreal.
Three years ago, I made a decision to buy a town house, feeling as though that was a permanent settling and I could get attached, here I am, leaving again. Even in the midst of that purchase, my life was starting to change. A new and permanent relationship was forming, and has profoundly changed me in ways I could never have imagined at the time.
Through this relationship we have kept and made friends in two places. How do you say goodbye while you are still profoundly connected? We're not actually going far enough not to see people again, we are just going far enough to change the faces in our day to day, week to week contact. I have always made friends that while we might fall out of touch for a while, put the close ones back in a room together, and we are bonded as if we talked yesterday. This will be a telling time; who are those friends? Who will fade away, cared about from a distance, and who will remain connected? This will depend on an area where I have worked to do some personal growth. The area of the healthy goodbye. I have, in the past, let people drift away as life has changed. In reality, a healthier goodbye would reclarify the relationship, would honor what has been, and would be realistic about moving forward. It would force me to look at my own wants and needs in a realistic manner, and share them with those important to me. My best practice at this has come from my therapeutic relationships, where I have forced myself to communicate clearly and intentionally about the reality of those relationships. My worst has been with friends, where I don't want to acknowledge that things are changing, and let myself believe I will find a way to help them continue.
As I write this, I am reminded of something I have said before. I attach to people, not things. And I think I protect myself from fully feeling the changes in these attachments by not participating in healthy goodbyes. Which brings me to the next part of the changes and goodbyes. I have made a decision to buy a dual sport motorcycle. This, in itself, has me over the moon excited. Not only will I ride on dirt, not only will I ride on street, but I can ride on both WITH THE SAME BIKE! Imagine the adventure opportunity this opens up! Yet, one girl cannot own three (plus the geriatric one that hasn't yet been fixed) motorcycles. One girls husband bears too much responsibility for motorcycle trouble shooting and maintenance because this girls learning curve is steep. And this girl is a practical one, who doesn't want to leave a bike sitting in her garage when someone could be canyon carving or commuting on this delightful little machine. So this girl must say goodbye to her first street bike.
It is much like parting with a first love. I remember the first day I sat on this motorcycle, given to me by my dear husband. I am tearing up thinking about it. I rode it around the apartment complex at 8 miles an hour, terrified of hurting it. This is not a machine; this is a relationship. The motorcycle cannot stay separate from you, it must become a part of you. I remember the second day, going from my morning "top speed" of 17 miles per hour to riding down Maple Valley Highway at 55. What a feeling! I remember naming her Angel, due to her white and sparkling beauty. I remember coming home with my daily confessional of the mistakes I made riding every day. The only ones who really knew were my baby ninja and me. I remember passing my motorcycle test with my baby ninja. I remember riding every day, no matter the weather, to get myself ready for whatever may come on my honeymoon. I remember my first experience with hypothermia, my brain slowed, my motor skills slowed, and I didn't really even realize I was in danger. The baby ninja was so forgiving of all of these mistakes.
Then there was our honeymoon ride. Traveling 3500 miles on the baby ninja, riding on what Nathan called the best roads I will ever experience on my life. I remember taking her to the Lost Coast, where she proved her nearly off road capabilities and I went from being afraid of transitioning from gravel to pavement, to cornering on a road that was falling apart, uneven, sometimes gravel, and unpredictable. I remember the baby ninja zipping through the Mohave Desert, 105 degrees, 30 mile an hour cross wind, hot hot hot. The baby ninja is so willing, so ready, so excited to have fun all the time.
I tested my new motorcycle last night. OMG was it fun. I felt like I was being naughty, and might get caught; I was riding a dirt bike on the street... But it's legal! And, I was a little awkward; I rode a long time to find a space I felt safe to turn around. I slowed down too much on curves, and felt a little top heavy. The gearing was all different, and the turn signal is small and a little sticky. All things I will adjust to over time. Or fix. Then I got back on the baby ninja to go home, and OMG, was it fun! I have bonded with that bike, I know it. We work together to figure things out. I don't have to think, my body and the baby ninja are connected. It's a flow experience. I know I have not pushed the baby ninja to the fullest of her abilities, because I haven't reached the fullest of mine.
Yet, I have peace with my decision to part with the baby ninja and start a relationship with my new bike. I'm already planning the mods, the care, the possible changes of color. I'm daydreaming of adventures the ninja couldn't go on. I'm ready for the ninja to continue being loved and adored by someone who wants to love and adore that beautiful beloved little bike, while I start over with a new friend.
Farewell baby ninja. Have many more adventures, teach more people to ride, be wonderful and reliable. I will be grateful for the lessons you have taught me. And hello new yet to be named and nicknamed bike... Oh the fun we are going to have!
