Me in Motion

The other day I fell off my bike.

I was stopped.

At a crosswalk.

That said "Do not walk."

A woman driving by felt sorry for me and rolled down her window to check to make sure I was okay (Ohio people sure are friendly).

In my defense, it was a particularly windy day and I had difficulty maneuvering my bike in a straight line. But of course, while I had managed to remain upright for the past 4 miles, it wasn't until I had reached a complete stop that I toppled over.

"Toppled over" might just be the best description for how I feel right now. My state, our country, our world has come to a complete halt. My study plans for the month of June got cancelled. To top it all off, I quit my job and just had my last day yesterday. My bike has come to a complete stop, and it is only now at a standstill that I've realized just how utterly exhausted I am.

I'm tired of striving, of having to prove my worth, of having to constantly stay in motion so as to not fall behind in my studies. And I'm surprised to find that that I like the me-in-motion better than the me-in-standstill. I'm not sure I really recognize the latter me: she's much less impressive in her lack of productivity. She's much more fragile in the silence.

Why is it that when we're caught up in a fast-paced lifestyle it's easier to ignore the indications of burn out? Why is it easier to keep going, to keep pushing through, than to pull over to the side of the road to rest for a while, to do some healing work, to do the things that give us life?

While I'm saddened by the number of people who have gotten sick or even died, I'm at the same time grateful for this great big pause. Because this pause has reminded me that I'm not okay and you're not okay. And we've been given this wonderful, beautiful opportunity to hop off our bikes and find wholeness again.