The Governor (not Rauner)
Tonight I'm waffling. I'm exhausted, crusty-eyed, mucus-y, and exhausted. I worked nearly 9am to 9pm with some meal breaks. It was 26 degrees when I pedaled home but I was sweating like crazy, biking through the wind and the exhaustion.
Plus, I rode in a car today--one with heated, leather seats. I rode with someone from my church to make a pastoral care visit. It was a distance I could have biked or even walked, but we were making a visit together and he was driving there in his car, so I rode along. It was nice. It was comfortable. I did not mind.
So, tonight when I rode home, I barely noticed the beautiful city lights. I was too busy thinking about heated leather seats. I was too busy thinking about how much easier my trip would be with an electric assist. I was too busy thinking about how tired I was. As I realized I had just missed gazing at my favorite Christmas-lit house on Chicago Street, I remembered something I had told myself months ago. In August, when I just didn't feel like biking back to the office for an evening meeting, I told myself, if I was too tired to bike there, I was probably too tired to be there.
I don't know much about cars. But when I lived in Iowa and hung out with farmers, I learned that cars and other motored vehicles have something called a "governor" that keeps them from going as fast as they can. In other words, a car's engine may have a certain capacity for speed, but the governor stops the driver from taking it all the way to that speed, so that neither the driver nor the engine are hurt. I tell you what, I could use a governor some days.
Yesterday I wrote about the grace of pace. Tonight I'm thinking more about the disciplined governance of active transportation. Whether or not I feel up to getting somewhere and back, right now for me and my health level, is a pretty good indication of whether I should be there at all.
A wise clergy woman also recently told me there are three working units in a day: morning, afternoon, and evening. Don't work them all. Oops. Thankfully, there's always tomorrow to give myself some more grace.