Dear Body;

I've been wanting to create something in honor of my body for some time now; whether a blog post, a song, or a poem, I felt like I needed to express my gratitude and admiration towards her. Unlike my mind— which often makes mistakes, can sometimes even deceive me, or will simply never understand— my body just is. Lives. Feels. Grows.

Throughout this trip, my body and I have been working a lot on our communication. Ever since I was a kid, I've been extremely privileged with my body. She always responded to my desires and ambitions, and came through with everything I requested of her. I grew up with this incredible confidence that my body would be able to accomplish anything I wanted to. That it was just a matter of putting in the effort and the practice.

It never ceased to amaze me what my body is capable of, but I've recently become more aware of it since I started traveling by bicycle. I've come to appreciate how loyal she is to me. How strong she can be when I need her to be. When I ask her to be. It may seem simple, but it is definitely not easy to carry all that weight across the distances we travel regularly. And in doing so, I realize that my body is still there for me in everything I continue to ask of her. To continue pulling through even when my mind is ready to give up.

However, my experience cycling has also made me realize that my body is so much more than her physical abilities. She is what connects me to the present, to the world, and to reality. I am only able to perceive and interact with other beings through and because of my body. She is the medium by which I exist and construct my sense of self.

My body has unique insight into both worlds— inner and outer— which makes her infinitely wiser than I am. She knows who I am, what moves me, what doesn't, what I like, what I don't, what's good for me, and what isn't. She is directly connected to my emotions. Whenever I'm sad, nostalgic, frustrated or aggravated, she knows it and has a harder time moving forward as well. She is connected to my deepest instincts, and can sense things nearby and as subtle as any small hint of danger, or as far away as the effects of the full moon or mercury retrograde.

When you travel by bike, there's so much that your mind doesn't know, can't predict, and can't rationalize. It forces you to develop a more integral intelligence wherein your entire body, mind, thoughts, and feelings are all taken account for. After twenty-seven years, it's time for my mind to start listening for what my body asks.

Honestly, she doesn't ask for much. Care. Respect. Love. But even these simple acts can seem revolutionary within a society that trains us to reject, deny, judge, and even hate our own bodies. We are bombarded with toxins, chemicals and products that are harmful to our health. We are taught to focus on how we look rather than how we feel.

Ever since we started this journey, I don't think I'd felt as connected and conscious of my body since my childhood. The only difference is that now I know not to take her for granted. Now I notice a wisdom in her that I didn't know I could possess. I've always admired the natural world for its precision and perspicacity, yet I'd never thought to conceive of my own body in that way. For the first time in my life, I feel fortunate to inhabit this human body that breathes, laughs, and pulsates, among other incredible things I needn't even think of doing.

These days it's impossible to be a human being without feeling at least an ounce of guilt for the mass destruction that is happening to the planet. Since the beginning of Covid, there has been this discourse circling about how the world would be a better place without us, and although there may be some truth to the argument, I can't help but look at my body and know with every fiber of my being that humanity isn't just this ugly narrative we have very well deserved. That is not "being human". I believe our bodies are testaments to the fact that we are inherently and naturally capable of doing so much better.

As I ride my bike, listening to the birds sing and the trees sway in the wind, I can always spot Delta out of the corner of my eye— nose to the ground, sniffing every single bush, rock and bug that crosses her path. The sight of it always makes me laugh, because it just seems like the epitome of the "joie de vivre"— the joy of living. She makes me believe that this long-lost connection and belonging to the world can actually be found within our own bodies. I can think of at least one hundred and one different reasons to re-connect, love, and thank our bodies— but for now, I would like to do so for the hope that mine brings me.