I used to hate riding my bike

Pedal, pedal, pedal all the way home.

Growing up, my family lived in a small village. It had about 3,500 inhabitants at the time, four bus stops, a small mom-and-pop store, a bakery, and a post office. As kids we walked to kindergarten, and later to elementary school. It was probably a 20-minute walk along the forest edge, which we walked more efficiently when we got older. The younger kids were more likely to get distracted by snails that needed saving on the road, a rustling noise in the underbrush, or the neighbour's cat that followed us part of the way to school.

When we got older and went to high school, we had to ride to the next small city, which was about a 15-minute bike ride on the way there and almost 30 minutes on the way back home. Why did it take double the time home? Well, my parents chose to live on the last road up on a hill. That sucked—especially as a teenager. How I hated it. I would sometimes swear non-stop until I made it home. Especially in summer I would have to play mind games to keep pedaling, or I'd sing songs to make time pass and focus on something else instead. When I was obsessed with calories and weight, I'd tell myself that at least I was burning calories.

In winter, or once it got cold, my parents would pay for our bus pass or my mom would drive us. Still, the bus stop was in the village center. Oftentimes I'd have to run down the hill to catch the bus—I had my schedule down to the minute.

I used to think that once I was grown up and had a "real" job, I would drive to work. My first job out of university, I lived five minutes on foot from the office. I could literally see the office building. Learned: there is such a thing as living too close. Later I got a job in the city that I could commute to by public transport. However, I figured out that by bike I was actually faster. On top of that, I'd come to work fresh and happy, and on my way back home I could unwind from a stressful day. Riding my bike became a privilege, and I dreaded winters when I had to resort to public transport, coughing people, delayed trains, or missed connections. A car was out of the question as my office had no parking. Next came the time when I commuted 1 hour and 20 minutes door to door by public transport. A car would have shortened the journey there, but on the way back I'd always have to factor in traffic. So I decided to commute by train and use the time to work, text, scroll, or just listen to music and close my eyes.

My current job is bikeable in 20 minutes. And I love it.

Last week it poured on my way home and I didn't complain.

The girl who would have sworn all the way actually smiled.

Rain in my face, shoes wet, I felt so alive.

Funny how an up-hill never got any flatter. I just changed.

No traffic. No parking tickets.

I only regret the outfit limitations that riding a bike brings (no jean skirts, white is difficult for clumsy girls like me, certain types of heels...), but I remind myself how much I enjoy riding my bike. Hence, I plan my cute "non-bike-conform" outfits for days where I have to take the bus for whatever reason.

It's funny how life works. As a teenager, I couldn't wait to be old enough to drive and be a "cool grown-up". I thought a car meant being a "cool grown-up", representing status and freedom. But those terms became something else along the way. Just because someone owns a Porsche doesn't make them a better or cooler person. These days, I actually think riding my bike with a Dior handbag slung over my shoulder is a lot cooler.

I'm still convinced that owning a car is a very "grown-up" thing. But why would I want to be "more grown up"? It equates to being tied down with responsibilities, and I'd rather embrace my inner child, ride my bike to work, have fun, and keep that dream car on my vision board.

xoxo, your big sis F