In college, I rode my bike everywhere I went. It was this slick yellow roadster with checkered flag rim tape. I called it el italiano. I’d take it to class, lunch, hangouts, wherever. It was effectively my car. I loved this bike, but I never chained it up. The reason being a quality chain is expensive. So instead of dipping into my savings, I decided to just place my bike on the rack alongside everyone else’s and just trust that it wouldn’t be stolen. With everyone else’s bike wearing a chain, I could camouflage my bike among them — kinda like herd immunity.
At first, I almost couldn’t stand the anxiety. I’d sit in class wondering if I’d return to find my bike gone. Or if I needed to run an errand in a building that wouldn’t let me bring it in, I would run down the halls so my bike wouldn’t be left out for too long.
A belief soon formed within me. I should be more trusting of people because, if they are like me, they wouldn’t want to steal the bike in the first place. And from there a much broader concept sank in: I want to live in a world where people don’t steal other people’s bikes. And that idea evolved into a conviction: It’s best to live idealistically, as we’re the only ones responsible for creating the world we want to live in.
I went a year and a half like this before someone finally stole my bike. And I wasn’t even mad, because I gained a year and a half in a world where I trusted people often and with confidence.
With the midterms coming up, I’ve caught myself thinking of this bike a lot.
I work in politics — I guess. I don’t run campaigns or shake famous people’s hands or get anyone elected. What I’ve been doing for the last five years is digital communications around progressive issues in Colorado. Think social media, email, ads, websites, that kind of stuff.
I came into this line of work because I studied communications in school, but more importantly, I don’t think I could have survived doing something that I wasn’t passionate about, like selling soaps. No offense to the soapmakers of the world, my skillsets are what they are and that’s just not one of them. Anyway, I came into the work optimistically. Change is possible if we make it so. Give me a couple years and we’ll have this country fixed right up.
These days, however, I’ve been feeling jaded. After so long, some of that glossy sheen of passion wore off a bit. Enough to fall into the routine of work. Or better put, my values and worldviews were laid out as tasks to complete. Enough tasks and you’ll lose sight of the value altogether and over time you’ll only complete tasks geared toward your values while you’re at work. And since it feels like work, you want to detach yourself and almost forget the day behind you. In short, we lost the forest among the trees.
They’re calling this election the most important of our time — again. This sense of magnitude has me reflecting on whether or not the values I hold are sincere or if they are simply aesthetics.
I am the direct beneficiary of the progressive aesthetic. I think people see me as a generally progressive guy, which comes with support and criticism. Of course, they’d have reason to think so. I work on progressive issues, afterall. But that’s what keeps the lights on, no? My direct quality of life depends on me caring about these ideals. So, what am I doing outside of work that is idealistic?
I recently turned 29 and, in my advancing age, if I’m not inching myself over to my idealized world, then what am I doing? Voting is a right and it’s something I take seriously. But it only comes around so often.
“Live your values” sounds so simple. But when the world feels so upside down, why even bother? I think that’s a question a lot of us are asking ourselves these days. At least for me, it’s inspiring when I see someone stick to their ideals. It makes me believe, yeah, the world we want to live in is possible, so long as we believe in it. And as cliché as it sounds, that belief will lift me out of times of weariness. I think we can do that for each other, I really do.
Of course! The ending of my bike story. Another year went by and I’d gotten another bike — still no chain. One day, as I was entering the college’s main building, I spotted my old bike leaning on the rack, chainless. So I calmly went over, mounted el italiano and rode off, knowing the most valuable thing from all this was the time I had trusting others. So I never bought a chain for it, since that’s not the world I live in.