I feel as if I don't have much to say, recently.
All of my miles are commuter ones. To and from work, to and from grocery, to and from random errands. I pass the same places day in and day out.
It's interesting that even things that generally make a ride unpredictable, like weather and traffic, don't even register on my radar anymore. Even passing this corner, with the bakery just up the block, doesn't register. I used to love to smell the cinnamon and nutmeg while I waited for the light here. Now, I'm up off my seat in the big ring trying to make the light, just so the ride is over. Just so I can get there, already.
I still notice the little things. The graffiti, the little inspirational signs all over the place. Random poems on phone poles, sharing space with bids for salvation and eternal life.
I've worn a path in to the pavement, and I need to get off of it, I think. I haven't ridden just for the joy of it in a long time.
I need to fix this. Post haste.
"Just so I can get there, already."
ReplyDeleteThis perspective, when I apply to many things, robs me of the joy of doing them.
Getting out of the rut will probably be a pleasant change, and worth doing. But maybe shaking up the pace of the routine would also be refreshing.
I heard it said once (1993 or 1994, on late-night CBC radio) that "A rut is a grave without ends." Obviously, it has stuck with me ever since.
ReplyDelete(I see on the internet that it is attributed to several different people.)
~Robin