Harley And Me

He had talked about it for awhile. Finally, last Saturday it happened. The Mister took a Mistress.

She is a beauty, to be sure. Ebony skin, supple seat, sleek and powerful, her shiny chrome pipes blindingly bright in the afternoon sun. She is everything I am not.

She is a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

This love affair is not new, not by a long shot. The Mister’s adoration for Harley was as old as our relationship. I always knew she was there, lingering seductively in the back of his mind, but I had hoped that being married and raising a couple of kids would distract him from her long enough to make Harley but a distant memory of youthful desire. But like all true loves, Harley had a way of creeping back into our lives. She was a force to be reckoned with.

I said yes.

After years–no, decades–of saying no, I said yes. Nothing about his love for Harley made sense to me. Nothing. We really can’t afford her as she comes with a hefty price tag. There is nothing about her that is essential. Harley is The Mister’s toy…there is no increased property value to be had, no memorable family experiences to share…she is his, and his alone. The Mister listened to my reasoning for not taking in The Mistress and could not argue with any of my (very sensible and thought out) points. I made sense, he did not. Simple, right?

Not so quick.

“Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of what you truly love.” ~ Rumi

I have always loved that quote. In my yoga classes, I will often have my students lay back in Reclined Bound Angle (Supta Baddha Konasana) with the soles of their feet pressing together and their knees allowed to simply flop open. I ask them to place one hand over their heart and one hand over their belly. I ask them to listen to what they hear, even (even!) if it makes no sense at all. Our heart, our gut, our intuition guiding our way, our life, our choices. This is almost always done after a series of powerful, heart-opening backbends. Heart wide-open, vulnerable, brave, and strong. Yoga is an intuitive practice, a practice of listening, a practice of trust. It is rarely a practice of making sense. (C’mon, really, if yoga made sense, why would we be compelled to stand on our head or our hands when we have two perfectly good legs to support us?) I began to ask myself why I thought this (very non-sensible) listening to one’s deepest desires only pertained to me? The Mister’s and Harley’s love affair was hardly a flash in the pan, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of one night stand. Their love had stood the test of time and it was time for me to walk the walk.

I said yes.

I said yes not because I am just so freakin’ awesome of a wife. (Although there could be arguments made to support that.) I said yes because I needed to take a leap of faith. So what if the “stronger pull” of what The Mister truly loved didn’t sync up with mine? Who was I to tell him (again) that what he truly loved didn’t make sense to me? I said yes because I knew his love for Harley came from somewhere deep within–perhaps in his heart, in his gut, in his intuition. I said yes because I believed.

I spend a lot of time in my head. I think too much, probably. I get in my own way. It is not unusual for me to go out for a run and spend most of the time thinking about why I need to think so much. I figure if everything is making sense, if all my ducks are lined up in a row, if life is going as planned, then all is well. Well. Perhaps. But it very well might also be lacking passion. Making sense, although it has it’s time and place, can be overrated.

Have you ever been attracted to someone so powerfully, in a way that was completely intangible, inexplicable, that perhaps didn’t make sense? Have you ever been drawn to a place, a country, a house that seemed like “home” the very first time you visited it? Why do I love certain paintings, certain songs, the smell of horses and leather, the sound of china teacups clinking on their porcelain saucers, the clattering musicality of water rushing over cobbled stones? Why do I tear up at the beginning and end of nearly every live performance I see?

Why, indeed.

I love and cherish my circle of friends and family who insist on modeling a life based in passion and joy and taking a chance. They are my teachers. Through them, I witness the energy and excitement and validation that living a life from a platform of passionate, intuitive listening brings. I stop making sense. I start feeling my heart swell and get that giddy, tickle-y feeling in the pit of my stomach when I just know I am on to something good. Yes, sometimes it feels scary, but so be it. Listening to my heart, my gut, that mysterious place of knowing without knowing–that is where life truly begins.

“Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of what you truly love.” ~ Rumi

I say yes.

3 thoughts on “Harley And Me

  1. Becky

    Awesome traci! Love reading all your posts. U. Have an amazing gift when fingers poised at the keyboard. Be safe bob!

  2. Dale

    Very nice. And why not? Life is short and often short on joy. I share my man with a spiffy bright yellow Ducati, where for a few brief moments in his responsible grown-up week he can feel young and carefree again. Why not?

  3. Jeff

    You Rock! My Harley is my 1968 gas guzzeling not running at the moment truck:) I can’t even justify it most of the time but I just need it. I want it. It just fits me.

    Someday, I’d like to see a Harley parked next to that truck but that is a whole different chapter:)

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