I got my M1 license.
It’s the first step in acquiring a motorcycle license, in Canada.
From as early as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by motorcycles. It’s a neat feat of engineering stuffed into a compact body, allowing riders to exercise speed, control, and freedom.
As someone who’s currently exploring what fulfillment means, I know enough to know getting a motorcycle isn’t going to fulfill me.
What I do know, though, is that I found myself in this state of undecidedness, of whether I should pursue the license or not.
I find myself in this state a lot.
I’m indecisive. I was indecisive. Its an attribute I’ve made myself aware of, and I’m actively ameliorating it.
The interesting part of most of these decisions is that by not deciding, I’ve effectively decided the passive option.
In this case, “should I get my license”, was the decision at hand.
Going back and forth, and eventually stagnating to a halt is effectively letting the decision force an answer on me.
It’s an internal war of attrition.
This is a very trapping feeling, and is a pattern I recognize in myself very often.
By way of overcoming this pattern, I made the active decision to get my license. I could’ve decided to not get it, and that would’ve sufficed my desire to act.
I want to get my license, though.
I haven’t ridden a bike, but I can infer that the experience will be akin to driving. I’ve explored driving, and particularly intense driving, as a means of expending single focus, and living in the present. I imagine this feeling is heightened on a vehicle where the chances of death are far higher.
I think this experience will be a learning experience.
One of fear, of decision making, of fulfillment, and perhaps of idiocy.
It might be an expensive lesson, and I realize that.
There’s something enthralling about engaging with death, however. I think it lies in our nature. When we used to go hunting, or scavenging for food, there was a chance we’d be ravaged by a wild animal.
Where, in modern day, do we engage in activities that remind us of death so regularly?
Very rarely. Oddly, we’re only reminded of death when someone dies. I don’t think this is a frequent enough of a reminder to feel encouraged to live.
Perhaps that is the result of progression of society, but perhaps it is also the root of why many fall into patterns of escapism.
We forget about death, and as a result, we forget to live.
I conjecture that riding a motorcycle will be an active reminder of death – perhaps enabling me to live.