Apologizing for Nothing

Lately, I’ve had nothing going on.


Few plans after work. Few speaking engagements. I haven’t been on a plane since July. I’m recovered from my crash. TBD Minyan is launched. Work is going along.

And I have nothing going on. And that, gentle readers, scares me. I’m not used to having nothing going on.

Recently, a friend was complaining to me about a woman he’d been dating. He said that she didn’t have anything going on. She reads books, she works, but other than that she isn’t up to much. I don’t think he saw the fear in my eyes. It sounds so much like me and I’m not even doing much reading lately.

I tend to internalize everything my guy friends say about dating, so for him to say, “She just isn’t doing much” was quickly internalized and turned into fear. For someone getting to know me right now, I must seem like a terrible bore.

My life is work, riding my bike and watching TV on Hulu. I work late, I make few plans with friends, and when I do, I can’t talk about work. It’s really hard not to be able to talk about work. Much harder than I expected.

This fall has been hard for me with a few bright spots. Those bright spots are mostly on two wheels and with the people who travel on two wheels.

So.. to close up this rather whiney “I’m not doing anything with my life” post, let me share a bright spot. Last weekend, I went with another cyclist on an All Healed Ride. We met once this summer at a party, then each broke bones in crashes and commiserated through the gorgeous September and October weather about not being on our bikes.

He remembered our pledge to go on a celebratory ride after we were both given medical clearance to ride and we went. He kindly escorted me on city streets for the first real time since my crash and when the traffic was too much, was understanding about getting on to slower streets. We rode 15 miles, traded stories and warmed up over coffee. So three cheers to him for helping me get over the fear of riding on streets.

Also. I have a pretty rad yellow helmet now.

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