Running errands on my bike, the trip is worthwhile even if I get none of them done. Cycling is a sort of meditation; I am reminded the journey itself may be as valuable as the destination or goal.
I may be biking to my waiter job but along the way are the fragrances of lilac and hyacinth in Clintonville neighborhoods, east of High between North Broadway and Hudson; and an occasional greeting here and there from people on elegantly cluttered properties.
On Morse Road the view is far and wide, not cozy. Here I catch a glimpse of automobiles on a distant hill. They sparkle like ocean waves in the sun, whetting my sense of wonder and purpose.
Cycling, I'm not only glad to be alive. I'm glad to have lived.
Using this simple mode of transport is a metaphor for living; there are many routes to my destinations downtown, in the Short North, Campus, or Clintonville. Likewise, in life, there can be many ways to reach a goal.
On my bike, I sometimes deliberately digress. When driving, detours seem imposed because I'm more focused on reaching my destination.




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