On Shaving My Head and Disappearing for Two Months

No, it wasn’t a Britney moment. Yes, it’s still awkward.

Good morning, all you beautiful sparks of magnificence in this infinite quantum soup of life! Apologies for the brief disappearance; in the world of live streams and endless churn of content, a pause in publishing equals subscribers dropping like flies, but I didn’t want to shortchange quality over quantity - so thank you for being patient and sticking with me.

The summer is over, and this September, I ventured out into the world again leading tours in Croatia and Spain. Dirt bikes and mountains, people and places, friends old and new – all of a sudden, I had left my quiet oasis in Andalusia and threw myself right into the deep end doing what I hadn’t done in two months: riding bikes, connecting with humans, dealing with muddy trails and cautious riders, solving things, and talking about everything and nothing with friends till the small hours.

And, whoa, was that a shock to the system.

On the first of July, I sent myself out on a quiet creative retreat in my little whitewashed villa among the olive groves in the mountains of Spain. The scheme was this:

-        Take a pause and a deep breath; write, but only things I truly wanted to write, things I couldn’t not write, little stories and book fragments, travelogues and fantasy tales – whichever idea had entered my head, I’d follow it and see where it took me. And then have the audacity to hit publish.

-       Be outside; walk with the doggos; sit cross-legged in the sun in front of an ancient tree pondering the patterns of its leaves; go for swims and hikes and mountain bike rides.

-       Shave my head: leave the old juju behind and start anew, shedding a decade of dreadlocks and anxious restlessness and entering an era of blissful zen.

-       Eat more veggies.

-       Dance.

-       Figure Everything Out.

All of the above achieved, I would then go out into the world again, lighter and enlightened, calm and collected, ready for new adventures and misadventures; I would be more grounded and centered, able to remain an island of cheerful tranquility in the face of any storm or crisis, tracing new routes, helping new riders, and oiling dirt bike chains with utmost serenity and flair, my hair growing out and my confidence rebuilt.

Folks: those two summer months were nothing short of glorious.

My bald head in the mirror spooked me for about a week straight, but I got used to it and learned to appreciate the fact that I no longer needed four hours to dry my hair, and that no one stared at me or inquired about the various methods I must use to put a helmet on. All of a sudden, I was incognito everywhere I went (the grocery store, the bike garage, and the vet, namely, but still).

The Andalusian sun and the olive trees, the hikes and the dogs, the saintly vegan, zero-alcohol diet, even the flat mountain bike tires and days where the heat was so unbearable I and the furries all hid under the aircon unit with windows shut did wonders for my quest to be rather than do.

Which, in turn, did wonders for my nervous system and sleep.

Which did miracles for my racing heart that seemed to beat a little more calmly, my fluffy three-pack that appeared to have shrunk somewhat, and my growing suspicion that it was, indeed, possible to build a stable ecosystem of sorts; one that kept me afloat financially without burning me out, one that allowed for balance and sure feet in the face of uncertainty, that enabled me to take on new projects and leave for Patagonia again in winter but stay present enough to see when I was about to stretch myself out too thin.

Come September, I had the arrogance of a 7-month-old puppy to think that yes, for the most part, I Have Figured Some Things out.

Forgetting, quite conveniently, that it’s one thing to sit under the olive tree alone, and quite another to have the world challenge you and reflect things right back at you whether you feel particularly zen that morning or not.

Still, I felt Mostly Ready.

And what followed was Mostly Awesome: I got to see old friends again, welcome new riders to Croatia, ride dirt in the mountains and dreamy coastal roads on the Adriatic, connect with amazing women, welcome TET riders on their way to Morocco, and spend five days taking female riders on an off-road training tour right here in Andalusia, supported by our old crew and a new team member and friend.

But that island of cheerful tranquility I had hoped to remain? Man, did that get rocked and blasted about.

For one, I went from being That Chick With A Lot of Hair (whatever people thought of the dreadlock situation, it was a distinct look) to someone resembling Cipollino The Onion Boy with an uneven crew cut.

On the one hand, people now had to look at me instead of my hair; on the other hand, all was now on display, hooded eyelids, full cheeks, and the crooked smile. I felt oddly naked and exposed, in a way; and while that was the goal in the first place - to stop hiding - going into the world bald and bare was, at times, deeply uncomfortable. My dogs and the olive trees offered no opinions on my looks; the world very much did, and I had to keep reminding myself why I did this in the first place.

For another, two months of good sleep, healthy food, meditation and introspection, rest and recovery, creative dolce far niente and boundary-setting did help me immensely in stressful situations – but my ecosystem proved to be a fragile thing. Out in the world, I often fell right back into patterns I thought I’d left behind – from people pleasing to soaking white hot adrenaline in cold beers, stress from the outside radiating right back into the inside, at times shattering my summer Olive Tree Zen into pieces.

At the end of August, I had expected that my fall and winter period packed with motorcycle trips, new projects, and new people would be…peaceful, for the most part.

Instead, it’s turning out to be pointedly educational.

Stressful and borderline scary, at times. Uncomfortable. Challenging.

Awkward.

Turns out, I haven’t created a sturdy internal ecosystem just yet - I merely built a shaky twig structure.

I like it, though.

It’s work in progress; it’s got weak spots, it’s crooked and uneven, it’s prone to fracturing, but the contours are there. And when my old shadows – insomnia, depression, anxiety, and desperate restlessness - come calling, I open one door for them to enter and another, to depart, so the bastards don’t linger but simply pass through.

And, with each October golden hour, here in the mountains of Spain, there’s more and more sunlight flooding the place.

Perhaps it’s ridiculous to assume you’re ever ready for Big Things; whether it’s a motorcycle adventure around the world or a resolve to set healthy boundaries and ditch old stories about yourself, if you wait till you’re truly ready, you’ll never get going.

So kickstands up, friends.

Let’s roll.