Sigrid Haugset is a Norwegian cyclist.  Yesterday she won Stage Three of the Tour de France Femmes … going solo for 88 kilometres and holding off some of the best riders in the world.

Takes my breath away.

I thought Sigrid was going to fall off her bike before the finish line.  She was spent.  Her smiles and hugs afterwards showed a bright and exhausted spirit.  I was enthralled.

I haven’t yet watched the podium ceremony and Sigrid’s post-race interview.  Commentators on the internet say she was marvelous there too … “charming, humble words”.

Lying in bed this morning, I decided to make up an interview for her.  Here is a woman who just won Norway’s first stage victory in the Tour de France Femmes, someone who gave everything as she lurched to the finish.  A worldwide sporting audience awaits her words …

What will she say?

***

Imagine the interviewer, microphone in hand.  Past his or her right shoulder is the camera operator.

Interviewer:  What does this victory mean to you?

Sigrid:  It’s not about me.  It’s for Norway, my family, my friends, my teammates.

I:  Could you feel them during the race?

S:  Oh yes!  Every one of those endless kilometres.  They were willing me to stay out front.

I:  You’re now the overall leader of the Tour de France, wearing the yellow jersey.  What an incredible achievement.

S:  Thank you.  But again it’s not about me.  It’s about all of us, whether we ride bikes or not.  It’s about giving yourself totally to something.  Maybe it’s music, or cheering on your kids, looking after grandma.  Just do it with all your heart.

I:  With twenty k’s to go, did you think you could hold off Lotte Kopecky?

S:  (Pause)

S:  My heart is not with your question.  I’m still with “all of us” – you, dear interviewer, included.  As the poet Mary Oliver said to every human being on the planet:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

You too wear the yellow jersey.  You too have an immense contribution to make.

S:  (Looks left to the camera … which contains millions of people)

S:  And so do you

I have a balcony off the living room of my apartment in Gent.  It overlooks people strolling on the Oudburg, a street full of restaurants and bars.

I’ve lived here for three-and-a-half years, and a few days ago I experienced a first … a pigeon landed on the railing.  It stayed awhile.

I was in wonder.  I love birds.  I’m happy that I just gazed at the quiet one, who knew how to find my eyes.  No grabbing the phone for a photo op.  Just staying put.

And then she or he was gone.  That’s okay.  I will continue to remember the time I was visited.  There’s a yearning for the return and a knowing that this may never be.

All is well

The major life issue I’m dealing with right now is the health of the electrical system in my apartment building.

Last night I went to bed like a normal person.  Hours later I awoke to feel a little shock in my right foot.  Not much, but there.  I’d say 3 out of 10 on the pain scale.

I was in and out of sleep for the rest of the night.  When I was awake, I started timing the bursts in my foot.  They averaged every twenty seconds.

The pain was in the exact spot of the tendon transfer surgery I had in 2003.  That’s a bad memory – seventeen weeks on crutches.  My surgeon inserted a five-centimetre screw in my heel.

And here I am today.  Is the metal conducting electricity … that somehow comes from my apartment building?

I just reread that last sentence.  Sure sounds weird.

It’s mid-morning in Lloyd Coffee Eatery.  The frequency of the jolts is less often, but they’ve accompanied me for coffee.

I don’t know what’s happening but surely the body and the emotions are intimately connected.

***

Now I’m remembering another time of the body – 2018.  With seventeen other souls, I started riding my bicycle across Canada.

I lasted four days, terrified of the semi-trailers passing close by, and lacking the necessary bike skills.

What did the body say in response?  My right hand shook uncontrollably for a week, maybe two.  (Sigh)

…

And so, dear body, you are a mystery to me

I speak for me, and perhaps I speak for you.  Wouldn’t it be nice if someone really saw our best qualities and then expressed that into the world?

Sometimes I feel invisible, that my contributions to the planet, to my neighbour, are not available to other eyes.  And yet that’s not the important thing.  Just keep contributing.

***

Tadej Pogačar and Isaac del Toro are teammates on the UAE professional cycling team.  Isaac is in the white jersey.

UAE’s Team Manager, Joxean Fernandez Matxin, shared the impact that Isaac has made on him:

There are people who don’t need to make noise to leave a mark.  They arrive with an embracing calm, a gaze that conveys peace, and a presence that makes everything seem a little easier.

They are special people.  Not because they do extraordinary things, but because they turn the everyday into something unforgettable.  They brighten gray days, inspire without even realizing it, and offer hope when it is needed most.

Their greatest virtue isn’t what they possess, but what they awaken in others: confidence, strength, smiles and the drive to keep moving forward.  They know how to listen with their hearts, lend a hand without expecting anything in return, and make the person before them feel important.

Perhaps magic doesn’t exist … or perhaps it does, and it simply wears the face of those people who make the world a better place just by being who they are.

Thank you, @isaac_deltoro_romero1 🐂 🇲🇽, for everything you are 🙏

I agree

Thank you, Isaac

This is Neytiri, a member of the Na’vi people on the moon of Pandora.  This is the world of the films Avatar and Avatar: The Way of Water.

Often Neytiri looks into the eyes of her partner Jake and says …

I see you

These are precious moments.

The Earthly human beings who land on Pandora don’t get the depth of three little words:

Of course you see me.  I’m right in front of you

Oh.  You see my clothing, the shape of my face, how old I am, what language I speak, whether I’m a man or woman …

Etcetera

It’s not eye gazing.  It’s not reading the other person.  It’s not intrusive … it’s gentle

It’s connection

A moment out of time

A blessing

Last night, I thought of something lovely to write about today.  This morning, that topic took a back seat to what is throbbing in my brain.

This Norman Rockwell painting hangs in my bedroom.

I am in the process of speaking truth to power … and power doesn’t like it.  A few people are angry with me.

I don’t see the value of giving you the details.  What’s important is describing the experience of doing something that has been rare in my life.

I’m scared and I’m exhausted.  Okay, I can live with both of those.  When I look in the mirror, I see that I’m doing what’s right.

I’m sticking to the issues (Problem > Solution).  No name-calling.  No ranting.  Not falling into either “Poor Me” or “You idiot!”  No thanks.

I think of today’s news.  Kaitlan Collins, a journalist with CNN in the US, continues to ask Donald Trump tough questions.  No descending to a lower level when she’s speaking to what some call the most powerful person in the world.  Quiet and emphatic courage.

If Kaitlan can do that in Washington, D.C.

I can do the same in Gent, Belgium

***

No splashing

No groaning

Just getting the job done

In our Evolutionary Collective meetings on Zoom, we’re often paired with another person to do a practice.  The question that each of us answers is “What are you experiencing?”

I was with “Frank” yesterday.  One of us (I can’t remember who) voiced the word “abnormal”.  Usually we don’t take the other person’s words and add to them.  We stay with what is alive in us at the moment.  But “abnormal” was a shared experience.

There was no negative connotation … just smiles instead.  It felt like we were tossing a ball back and forth.  So light, such fun.

Naturally, society has its opinion about what a word means.  So does the dictionary:

Actions or patterns that deviate significantly from typical social norms, cause personal distress, or result in dysfunction

Not for Frank and me.

And not for the girl in the photo.  I suppose you could say that her hat is abnormal …

But delightfully so

Over my many years, I’ve decided how I want to live … moment to moment.  Often I fall short of my vision.  Often I forget who I am.

I’m here to love, to serve, to be kind.  And to have virtually all of my spirit available to the next human being I meet, rather than it being covered by a cloak of despair.

I need reminders.

This morning in bed I decided to write a few things down.  And here I am, talking to you.

***

I see two major times in my life:

1.  When things are cool

2.  When things are uncool

Here are my reminders for each:

A.  All Is Well

1.  Open my arms wide, hug the whole world

2.  Love … scatter it throughout the cosmos or aim it at a certain person

B.  I’m Experiencing A Negative Emotion (e.g. Fear)

1.  Go towards it

2.  Open my arms wide, hug the emotion

***

And … I don’t want to do B so the emotion will disappear.  (Well, part of me wants that, but not the bigger part) 

I want to be close to everything

The whole enchilada

I went to sleep last night with a cool idea about what to write about today.  In the last stage of the Tour de France, Mathieu van der Poel was nearing the finish as a large group of cyclists was roaring up to him from behind.  So exciting!

Mathieu reached the line less than a bike length ahead of the nearest pursuer – his teammate Jasper Philipsen.

Jasper raised his arm in a salute to his friend.  It was a magnificent moment.

I dozed off thinking about the UCI (Union Cycliste Internationale), professional cycling’s governing body.  The UCI has a history of fining riders who celebrate a teammate’s victory.  “Obstructing” other riders.

I woke up this morning expecting that the UCI had fined Jasper, but they hadn’t.

The frequent rulings of obstruction dampen spontaneity.  “Don’t show joy.  Be a normal person” is what I hear in my head.  It’s not what the world needs.

Part of me was happy that the UCI didn’t speak of the moment.  That feels new.  It shows progress.  And … I admit that a smaller part of me wanted the UCI to keep being the villain in my mind.  I’m sad that wanting the second result stills resides within me.

The good prevailed

***

As always, I wanted to select a photo to accompany my post.  I searched and searched for a finish line shot that wasn’t copyrighted by someone.  And I couldn’t find one.  So no magnificent moment of Mathieu lurching for the line and Jasper thrusting his arm high.

Then I lowered my goal – any shot of the two cyclists would do.  At first, again no luck.  But soon …

An AI-generated photo of Jasper sitting on Mathieu’s lap

That’ll do

The Lievekaai is a cobbled park beside the Lieve River in Gent.  The parade of weeping willows always delights me.  They’re only a ten-minute walk from my apartment.

I have a favourite bench, the one today being enjoyed by the gentleman in the photo.

About four months ago, the bench was vandalized.  It lay crumpled on the ground, not fit for human habitation.  Soon thereafter, the whole structure disappeared.  Where the feet had been, there were now carefully laid cobblestones.

(Sigh)

Was this it, then?  The end of my sitting spot?  One less bench on the Lievekaai?

The weeks continued, and all stayed the same by the Lieve.

Today I was walking in Gent centrum with my daughter.  She’s asked me not to give her real name in these posts, and I can’t remember what I called her last time.  So today she’s “Alison”.

We meandered here and there, and eventually found ourselves on Sint-Widostraat – a short and narrow street with a sharp curve to the left halfway along.  Before the bend, I was telling Alison my sad bench story.

And then we turned …

Fifty metres away, there was a bench – in the exactly correct spot!  Thank you, Stad Gent (City of Gent).

A couple were sitting on my bench and I knew what to do.  I said hi, found out they spoke English, and told them the entire story.  Smiles came from the seated ones.

They started leaving, waving away.  Alison and I sat down.  And then the man stopped.  He asked me to pose for a photo.

He took two, neither of which I’ll ever see.  The first was me kissing the metal of the backrest.  In the second, I’m sprawled all over my beloved piece of furniture.

Hours later, I realized that writing about this today would be cool.  And I wanted a photo to accompany the story.  So I returned to the Lievekaai, to find a man perhaps loving the bench as much as I do.

Life is good