Is there always a lesson?

Sometimes shit just happens. And as much as I want to find the lesson in everything, to make meaning out of the mess, to turn the experience into something useful, sometimes that gets exhausting too. So, no grand lesson here. At least, not at first.
 

A few weekends ago, I was away on a retreat with some of my besties, and we decided to take mountain e-bikes out for a spin. Now, I am a Peloton “addict,” so naturally I felt pretty confident about my riding abilities and my strength. Maybe a little too confident. Mountain biking? First time on an e-bike? And a trail with rocks, gravel, steep downhill stretches, and lots of curves. It was a lot. I knew pretty early on that white-knuckling the handlebars while flying downhill was probably not the best strategy. So, I kept talking to myself: Just trust the bike. Relax into it. Except I wasn't relaxed. I was scared. And somewhere along the way, I knew I should probably turn around. But I didn't. I pushed on.
 

Near the end of the ride, I took a curve too fast. The bike slid out from underneath me, and suddenly I was on the ground with a 60-pound e-bike landing squarely on my right shoulder. There were scrapes and bruises on my arm and knees. My shoulder hurt. And somehow, I got back on that bike and rode the rest of the way to the starting point. But the physical pain wasn't the only thing I was feeling. I was angry with myself. I felt stupid for pushing it. And, honestly, I was embarrassed. Why hadn't I listened to that little voice telling me I wasn't having fun? That I was scared? That maybe this wasn't something I needed to prove I could do? 

Now I'm rehabbing my shoulder in physical therapy, trying to figure out how to stay out of my studio without going completely crazy and learning to use my left arm a little more. It will be fine. But it is another pause. And maybe, despite my earlier protest, there is a lesson here. 

I'm thinking a lot about the difference between challenging myself and overriding myself. There are plenty of things in life and in creating art that feel hard, awkward, or uncomfortable. Those are often the moments when I need to keep going. To experiment. To make the bad painting. To try something I've never tried before. To trust the process even when I have no idea where it's taking me. But this was different. I wasn't just uncomfortable. I was scared. My body was telling me something, and instead of listening, I tried to convince myself to push through. Maybe knowing when to push and when to stop is its own kind of wisdom. Maybe saying no isn't giving up. Maybe sometimes saying enough—and turning around—is the bravest choice we can make. For now, I'm trying to give myself permission to pause. To heal. To be patient with my body. Sometimes you just fall off the bike. And then you get back up.