MAMILian
MAMILian
Sep 6, 2018 · 2 min read

Another ride to work? Yes…gladly.

Subhead: Contemplating monotony.

Yeah, it’s heavy and a little ambitious, but not every days reflections can be about how far I pedalled.

I recall being asked in a high school art class to not attempt to draw the entire building, but rather sketch a single brick. I could sense a very “Kung Fu/Grasshopper beginning-of-wisdom” moment coming my way. Hope I recognize it.

Clueless about the point of the exercise, I shrugged the shoulders and went to work. I leaned-in to the paper, pencil and willing brick model and slaved away at my rendering. As I shaded the side opposing my source of light, I imagined Jewish ancestors in the mud pits of Egypt mashing straw and mud through their toes to create the consistency needed for servicable bricks. I was likely just revisiting scenes from The Ten Commandments. But, I did find myself immersed in grappling with the brick’s composition, color, pourousness, weight, purpose.

The result? A passable brick. A brick with character. More notably, an enlightened…ahem…artist (stand back from that newly tarnished term). I’m still not a capable sketcher. But, focusing on the micro — I reflected years later— improved the conceptualization of the macro (the building). That was the gist of the exercise I gathered. A building was too large of a perspective to undertake, convey, contemplate and appreciate.

So what does all this mean to a middle-aged cyclist fatigued from the monotony of pedalling the same worn path?

I sometimes lament the lack of new routes to loop; varied vistas to view; new topography to tackle.

While I have ridden over 150 times in the past year along the same 28-mile route to my office. I can’t recall any single journey being exactly like another. So many variables create uniqueness from lighting, temperature, wind, bike used, and on and on. Now add the variables involving me: My ability, gear worn, what I had for dinner the night before and my mood. Each is beautifully unique.

I’d learned that Monet obsessed over water lilies. He painted them in his later life repeatedly. To redundantly dedicate one of the greatest impressionists prime years to a seemingly inconsequential bloom seems a bit wasted. Or was that the point? Could a lily ever be mastered? Or better said, aren’t there infinite manners to appreciate it using oil paint as a medium?

[insert ‘reflection’ emoji here]

Today, I’m thankful to be able to purge “monotonous” as a description of any ride.

Vive la difference!

MAMILian

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MAMILian

I'm Fabian. Riding and writing for me. Along the way I hope to laugh. (MAMIL: /ma•mel/ Middle Aged Man In Lycra)