On Cycling
And turning off the cycle of the news. Plus books, fun & comforting tidbits, and a gelato recipe.
Bicycles figure prominently in many of my childhood memories. One favorite is the hot summer day when I was five-ish and decided to remove my training wheels.
I’d been out riding up and down the hill near our house, sticking to the sidewalk as instructed. What made me choose just then to seize what felt like agency? Did I commandeer a wrench from my father’s toolbox? Could I have possibly known how to use a wrench at that age? I can’t imagine I’d have been able to remove the wheels with my bare hands.
What I’m certain of is that I asked no one’s permission or help.
The self-assurance I must have possessed to take such initiative — and risk — still astounds me. Sailing down the hill, the summer breeze at my back as I flew, was energizing. But at some point, I lost control. And though I returned home a bloody mess, I savored the taste of what felt like new-found freedom.
I learned to brake properly soon after. That knowledge and the missing encumbrance of training wheels meant I could venture out on my own as far as I could peddle — more distant as I got older, though I had to be home for dinner. Only on the pages of a book did I travel farther.
It’s no surprise that cycling and reading were my escape hatches since both could silence the noise in my head. (Yes, even as a child I was a worrier.)
But here’s the difference: Books filled my mind with wonderful stories. Riding cleared my head, which allowed me to do the filling. I’d wind round and round the loop of the path, hearing the swish of the cars above the embankment and the wind dancing among the reeds. Suddenly, I was a different person living a life of fabulous adventures I’d conjured up on my own. It wasn’t silence exactly, but it transported my thoughts somewhere else.
Now, the only cycling I do is an occasional spin on the stationary bike at the gym. I find my quiet freedom in reading and crocheting. Still, nothing has ever come close to the liberation I experienced as a little girl on my two-wheeler, its plastic basket woven with faux daisies up front.
Well, that sure would come in handy now, when my head feels like a parking lot with no spots left. They’re all taken by deadlines, Shabbos prep, housework, concern for my parents, things I take care of for my husband and our kids, my ever-growing to-do list, social obligations, questions like Am I fulfilled? and Should I buy new curtains?, my endless worries about Israel and spiking antisemitism, and for goodness’ sake, remembering to color my hair. Then there’s staying abreast of the news, which hogs way more than its share of room, especially since it’s coming at us from a million sources.
I tell myself: The news? Maybe I can at least control the volume of that.
“Leave the 50 WhatsApp chats you’re in,” one of my sons suggests. “Start there. With all the local ones.” I mute them for a week instead, forgoing announcements for shiurim and Mazal Tovs and watermain breaks. I advance to three-day social media fasts, put off writing this newsletter, dodge checking the usual websites first thing in the morning. I even delete the new afghan patterns flooding my inbox. I haven’t the brain energy to process even one more bit of information.
The problem is this: I want to know everything, but I also want to know nothing at all. If I still biked, I’d leave my phone at home and sail off to the farthest path, cycling to clear my head until the street lights came on, at which point I’d remember I’m expected at home for dinner, only now I’m the one doing the cooking.
Even if I could detox from the news cycle for good, in today’s world, can I afford not to look? And how can I rearrange the parking lot in my head so there are enough spots left for joy and the many other things I need — but also very much want — to find room for? I wish I had the answers. More than anything, I long for my confident childhood self. I’m sure she’d know what to do.
I’m so tired. Maybe I’ll figure it out in the morning.
A Few Other Things
First, books.
I’m not keeping up my usual reading pace this year, but I’m still busy with books. Two I’ll mention here: Lucy Adlington’s The Dressmakers of Auschwitz, a little-known, poignant Holocaust survival story and Lauren Grodstein’s We Must Not Think of Ourselves, historical fiction set in the Warsaw Ghetto, whose characters I came to care about deeply. The books I’m set to read next are about entirely different, lighter subjects. More on that later.
And by request, a return to sharing happy, comforting links. I haven’t posted these in a while, so I have quite a few saved up.
I could probably make conversation with a tree, but there are times I just want to avoid small talk at all costs, even though experts say there’s value in it.
Paper wedding gowns? Huh. Yep.
Who knew that the plastic pink flamingo was the official bird of Madison, Wisconsin?
We just returned from a few days in Rome and I find myself thinking a lot about gelato. This recipe that looks promising.
A study about hope is giving me hope.
My friend Suzanne has become a celebrity for her fascinating Garbage & Rats in NYC walking tours that are becoming the “in” thing to do in Manhattan.
Here are some brain-soothing tips when anxiety strikes.
And when all else fails, enjoy this ranking of Jewish cookies from The Nosher.
Thanks for Being Here
It’s so good to have you with me here on Days of Rest. If you are reading this and haven’t signed up yet to receive new posts in your inbox, use the link above. Thank you, thank you for supporting my work with your free subscription. <3
Wishing you a Gut Shabbos, Shabbat Shalom! May our prayers for peace, kindness, healing, and love be answered.
Love,
Merri