🛵 Lessons on meaning from a moped
Why leaning into the turns can be the safest form of travel towards fulfillment
A few days ago, I was straddling a moped with a jug of milk between my thighs, a tube of baloney the size of a small blunt weapon wedged under my arm, a sizable cabbage-head delicately balanced on my right knee, and a small rotisserie chicken on my left.
I’ve been spending a lot of time as of late cruising around windy Croatian roads on the backseat of a Vespa. Sometimes en route to secluded beaches. Sometimes en route to the supermarket.
In any case, it ends up accumulating to a solid amount of time in transit. And in order to whole-heartedly honor the privileges afforded to me as a ~passenger princess~, I’ve been trying to make the time productive.
That is — productive in ways beyond merely refining my propensity to artfully juggle cartons and cured meats off the back of a moving vehicle. Though I’m optimistic that this refined capability of mine might one day productively payoff. Say, perhaps, in a future career with a nomadic circus troupe?
Anywho. I digress.
Before readying myself for that professional pivot, I’d really like to resolve my current one. So what I really mean, is that I’ve been trying to use this peaceful passenger time productively, most notably, by thinking.
And more specifically: thinking about the path that I’ve been on, and the path that I want to continue to pursue.
In Dubrovnik, where I’m currently staying, most paths are windy ones. The town is built into a rocky cliffside that spans crystal blue coastline. And as you climb to neighborhoods nestled higher in the hillside, the views only get more magnificent. But, to get there — and to get nearly anywhere “up” in the world, it seems — you better be prepared for some pivots.
So whilst death-gripping my groceries and the midsection of the man in front of me, I often find myself thinking about how to handle both the bends in the road, and the bends in my life.
And so far — on both matters — this moped has been teaching me a thing or two.
Step 1: Pick the windy path
Chart a path to the lookout point that actually makes you proud
Before we get into all the details of actually navigating windy paths, it might be worth first considering whether such paths are worth being on at all. Why opt for nausea-inducing twists and turns if it’s not absolutely necessary?
There are many linear roads for life we can follow — choose something you’re good at, stick to it, get better at it, and never veer. And, there’s nothing wrong with that. The path of least resistance is surely a reliable one, and it’s a path we all have the option to take. The only problem comes in when you're not sure that you actually want that path, and you’re too lazy, or too uncertain or too scared to change the status quo.
That’s when you’re on the straight-shot path ~because~ it’s the path of least resistance.
And that’s an awful reason.
You may technically be working hard, in hours, or otherwise. Just not working hard on yourself. And it’s that slip in reasoning that had me skip over classes in college on Physics and Philosophy — two topics that I was genuinely interested in. I talked myself out of taking them, and other classes, for reasons that were twofold. Either (a) I was secretly intimated by my shotty track record on the subject matter (damn you AP Physics for breaking my bold womanhood), or (b) the classes just didn’t jive right with the plan that my plan had planned since pre-school and never paused to reassess — a post-college career in ~Consulting~ and ~Investment Banking~, but of course.
And what a great tragedy that is — to choose short-term speed and performance on the path you know, over long-term learning on the path that you want.
To let your insecurity silently kill your intuition — a fool-proof way to roadblock any route to more fulfillment.
Thankfully, at some point in the past few years, I regained steering on my scooter. I realized that it’s not actually fun (or fulfilling) to choose a path that feels like cruise control. You may go far. You may get somewhere fast. But, you won't feel good about it. Because you won’t feel good about yourself — the person that secretly opted for the easy and familiar, over the unknown.
Plus, would the world be as wonderful if you could traverse it all on cruise control? Probably not. That would mean that the world is flat. You could span a slice of it easily, but you’d lose out on all the topography of the terrain — indeed the stuff that’s the most tough to travel through, but also, the most wonderful and grande to witness.
Instead, I’ve found that the route to most places worthy of going — be it a delightfully secluded seaside Croatian cove, or some personal life calling — is a long and windy one. But, that doesn’t mean that the windy path you blaze isn’t also the shortest, and the fastest, to get you to where you need to go. And indeed, where you’re meant to go, if feeling fulfillment matters to you.
So, perhaps you are, in some small part of you, sensing that you might be at a fork in the road — wondering if you should consider a windy path. And because Google Maps doesn’t yet let you drop a pin on your life purpose (though I’ve submitted this product feedback on numerous occasions), it’ll be entirely up to you to navigate this thing.
So, let’s return to that question up top, shall we?
What do I really mean when I say choosing the windy path? And who actually wants to opt for nausea-inducing twists and turns?
Crazy people. Flippin’ crazy people, of course.
But also, people consciously making decisions in their life that honor curiosity more than fear.
And that, right there — is the type of person that I want to be.
Step 2: Slow down before the bends
Be brave enough to hit the brakes, even if it breaks your current momentum
Hopefully you’re maybe, sort of, somewhat bought into the fact that windy paths are worthwhile. Not something to be avoided, and perhaps, something to even selectively seek out.
But the moment you see that first bend on the horizon — the curve that requires your courage — things get really scary. Because going into the bend for a new direction, means tapping the brakes on your current trajectory. And no one likes the idea of slowing down the progress they already worked so hard for. No one wants to sacrifice all of that existing forward momentum — say, the credibility powering your current career, or those oh-so-dear memories and shared experiences with your present special someone.
For a bend? With no guardrails? And no guarantees of what’s on the other side?
Plus, why slow down when flooring it on the straight-away still offers so much? And fast too!
More money, more promotions, and more spiffy scratch’n’sniff stickers. The path you’re on might have some very real opportunities and rewards. And because they’re straight ahead, they’re easy to see. You have certainty that you can actually reach them.
So why fuss over whether your Vespa even wants a V8 engine! Supercharge that scooter, and plow full-steam ahead! Who knows how long the suspension on satisfaction will hold with all of that horsepower. But also, who cares. Because, hot damn, can this puppy move!
But, don’t mistake gripping the throttle for true grit.
Sure, it keeps you moving — but it might also be misplaced. You’ll be succeeding at something you know you can attain, but perhaps, the wrong-thing. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is gently squeeze the breaks on some of that momentum on your current life path, and accept that you’ll need to do the most daring thing of all to get going on a new direction:
Downshift.
But, if you manage to do that correctly, you’ll confidently ready yourself for the real challenge that comes next:
Actually executing (the first of many) turns.
Step 3: Lean into the turn
Maneuver through the discomfort and embrace some imbalance
Setting yourself up to approach a turn is one thing. But getting through it, is another entirely. And if you’ve ever been on a motorcycle of any kind, then you might already know one of the core principles for taking a turn on two-wheels:
Lean into it. Not away from it.
The resulting feeling — that of imbalance — of course, goes against all of our safe, stable human instincts. And, most messages we’re told.
Struggling to find peace with your partner? Compromise is key! Suffocated and stressed by your career? Work a bit less! ~Live~ a bit more! Find thy balance, and thy qualms shall be cured.
Or, something like that.
These statements of course, come from a good place — well-intentioned friends or protective, concerned parents — merely suggesting balance as a strategy for solutioning your life. But it’s hard to dole out decent advice without really being in the details of the driver’s seat.
Author’s Note: This, of course, does not apply to you, Mom and Dad. Your counsel is incomparably keen. Your advice, exceedingly astute. Your perspectives, most profound.
Always.
Obviously.
And really — I do get what these well-intentioned statements are trying to say.
I’m just not really convinced that they’re actually touching on the root cause — the crux of what it takes to round a corner.
Speaking for myself at least — even when I was in the deepest despairs of my burnout, “lack of balance” didn’t really resonate as the issue. Yes, the allocation of hours between my professional work and personal wellness were completely out of whack. And yes, that was undoubtedly making me exhausted. And yes, that was, unequivocally, ~a~ problem.
But, it wasn’t the problem.
The root cause wasn’t the fact that my time-allocation was askew. Rather, my time allocation was askew because none of the things I was allocating time towards felt deeply meaningful — so fretting over the exact ratios didn’t feel all that important anyway. It felt like a safe, albeit exhausting, equilibrium. Balanced, but like, too balanced. Like, my sense of self was in a disconcerting sort of stasis — wanting more, but not knowing where to shift my weight to get there. I wanted to try and tilt into something new. But what? But where? But how?
Turns are just plain tough.
And so, the only thing we know to be true is this: you won't get any more information by staying in balanced stasis. You must lean into that discomfort of turns — on your own journey for meaning, as on a moped. And, in fact, anything else sets you up for danger and dissatisfaction.
Your mental machine might try to over-correct, with logic leaning so far that you topple over into drastic decisions — ditch the job! dump his ass! — perhaps, unnecessarily. If it doesn’t, well then — you might miss the turn entirely because the bravery of your mental motorbike couldn’t bear it.
And that’s why I think that “balance,” our favorite catch-all catchphrase, can actually get us into a sticky situation — not only when steering a scooter, but also when steering ourselves. Distracting us from the self-doubt that actually sits at the root of the issue. An issue that might indeed be the oh-so-balanced stasis itself.
Instead, I find it much more useful to think about the ways in which I should selectively seek imbalance. Identifying and naming the discomforts that I’m going to take on in a turn — like spending 30 minutes a day to work on my book proposal (presently, the bane of my existence, far worse than writing the manuscript itself).
The good news is this: you almost instantly feel better once you’re in the crux of a corner — no matter how small — be it mid-burpee in some God awful Barry’s bootcamp class, or finally sitting down with a spreadsheet to review your budgetary bad habits, or finally doing interview prep for new jobs that you’re applying to. You feel anxious leading up to the turn, forecasting all the unpleasantries of imbalance and exertion. But, better as soon as you’re in it, employing every tool in your toolkit.
So, I suppose it comes down to this gentle, scooter-inspired suggestion:
On the windy road of your life, commit to each corner by consciously taking steps to counter-acting anything that resembles complacency. Dig into the things that you most don’t want to do. Consciously call out what and how you’re trying to change. And then shift your weighting of time, energy and focus to get there.
Who knows what comes from the other side of the bend. But at least, you won’t be blindly barreling forward.
And that bravery alone, is something to celebrate.
Takeaways: Quick tips to weave your windy path
I’m still refining my otherwise clumsy coordination tendencies to weave this windy path. But, I’m happy to summarize a few more tactical, moped-inspired insights that I’ve uncovered so far.
As a brief aside, and just to set the record straight: Scooter-riding isn’t my sole source of all things sage. I just think it has some interesting best practices. So, thanks for making it this far, and already suffering through a shameless number of scooter references.
Also, sorry.
Because here come a few more.
Be selective about a “set” of windy paths so that your instability is tightly scoped. If every element of your life is scary and hard all the time, that’s no fun. Bravery to lean into bends takes bandwidth. And if you’re trying to be brave across too many things at once that you’re feeling unsatisfied with — be it your career, love-life, body image, creative output, financial wellness…you get the idea — the fatigue will keep you from finding fulfillment in any of them. Instead, keep a few easy, straight, reliable paths in your repertoire. That stability will give you the peace of mind to selectively tackle a subset of truly windy routes that require all of your strength.
Choose curves by keeping an eye out for them and following your curiosity. Too often, we delay following bends in the road because we’re waiting for the detour to choose us. Some “big break” that gives us certainty that it’s absolutely the right time to turn — be it in the (forever unattainable) feeling of “readiness,” or in some neon signage: SCENIC DETOUR AHEAD. In reality, windy roads up steep inclines are more often made of many small bends, not one big one. And the best way you can ready yourself for the bigger bends you need to take, is by following curiosity, cultivating courage and investing some low-stakes commitments in the small ones. Wondering what it would be like to actually build an app? Block 20 minutes and watch an Intro to Java course on YouTube. But, to not cultivate micro-curiosity, is to miss out on critical clues. So never distract or —worst of all — doubt yourself out of following curiosity. Which reminds me…
Turn into your self-doubt, rather than swerving to avoid it. I’ve found that the inertia that stops me from doing something — anything — is almost always rooted in some form of insecurity. If you’re procrastinating on applications to new jobs because you’re “busy,” perhaps it’s actually because you’re afraid of that inevitable barrage of rejections. If you’re delaying on that conversation that you really need to have with your sister, spouse or supervisor — perhaps it’s actually because you’d rather circumvent their despair or disappointment in you. But, succumbing to your self-doubt today only signs you up for displeasure in yourself tomorrow. So unless you're literally pushing your courage to the brink of a cliffside, take the turn. And rest assured that insecurity veiled under inaction, is not the safer route.
Decide whether you’re more comfortable with the risk of over-correcting or under-correcting. For any upcoming turn, there’s one of two ways you can weight your risk-taking. You can risk “over-correcting” and take radical measures that throw you off balance. Say — quitting your job, buying a camper van and moving to Bali. Only to realize that beach-bum van life isn’t all that fun 6 months in when you’re broke with crap Wifi everywhere. Or, you can risk under-correcting — making changes so strategically small that they may indeed have no affect at all, and risk having you roughly in the same spot 6 months from now. Follow your gut on this. In general, I’ve found it best to start with whichever approach feels less like a cop out — and then, adjust from there.
Don’t cut a turn every 2 minutes; commit to some duration of consistent practice before each bend. Confession time: I know I got all annoyingly pedantic earlier when I was bashing the b’Jesus out of ~balanced cruising~ on straightaways in your life — but, I don’t actually think some consistent cruising is the Devil reincarnate. I just think we delay making the changes (read: taking the turns) that we desperately need to make because the approach of finding stable stasis is our inherent default. But, if you’ve already overcome that, and done the hard step of tackling the discomfort of a curve, don’t promptly pivot 2 minutes later just because you didn’t immediately achieve some discernible output. Instead, balance back out, commit to some consistency, and then reassess before the next bend. Don’t bale on your newly founded culinary Insta page just because the reel for your ratatouille recipe didn’t go viral 2 days into your content creation journey. The modest climb that comes from each curve might take a little time to reveal itself. And personally, I think the sweet spot is to commit to something for ~3 months at a time before you reassess, and ready yourself for the next bend.
Conclusion
What fulfillment actually feels when your moped is moving the right way
I still have yet to find a precise definition of “fulfillment” that I’m happy with, which would really be helpful to know when I hit it, and all. But so far, I know that few feelings are as satisfying as that of a windy path scaled — and that must say something about the mysterious phenomenon.
And perhaps, it’s saying this:
First and foremost, fulfillment is best found on paths leading up to the summit of something steep. Something difficult — a path that pushes on your deepest feelings of doubt.
But, the feeling of fulfillment is not concentrated at the peek. It’s the punctuation following every pivot. It’s that burst of feeling you get as soon as you start triumphantly rounding a turn. Another corner— no matter how big or small — conquered by your courage, efforts, and agency. Outweighing all doubts and delay tactics that tried to talk you out of the discomforts of the ride.
Turn after turn — your tank is re-fueled with faith in your own abilities. The capacity of which increases through surprisingly simple means: merely, a proven track record of trying hard, and tackling new turns.
And that ever-increasing fuel gauge of faith on your greatness — feels amazing.
That, for me, is the feeling of fulfillment.
It gives the Vespa of your life even more vigor to follow a vision that you want. Doubts on difficulty — forbidden from taking the front-seat. Leaving you able to dare to drive, and dream, in any direction.
And knowing in your core, that you can conquer any corner on any windy path that you choose.
And more importantly, knowing that you actually will.