No one ever asked where you were going. We didn’t even ask ourselves. We weren’t going “to,” we were going “for.”  Going for a bike ride. Because that was the point — the ride — a hair flying, legs spinning, clothes breezing, gravel popping, mouth singing, hand waving, heart racing ride. 

I don’t remember when exactly I had to start reminding myself to do things just for fun. I suppose it was around the same time I began riding my bike to get somewhere. When I began to check my watch. Use all the gears. And lock up my bike at the destination. None of those things are bad. It’s all a part of the growing. But it’s not the all that I need.

Yesterday I went to the studio without a goal. It takes a good deal of effort to make the panels for painting. To measure. To cut the wood. Measure again. Sand it. Glue it. Sand it again. Gesso it. Sand it again. Gesso again. The grown, destination driven, bike locking part of my brain says not to waste it. To have a plan of what to paint. And I have done that, joyfully, for several weeks now. And I’m so very proud of the portraits that I have created. Of people I know. People I love. But there is a certain pressure to get it right when you’re painting real humans. So yesterday, I let myself just ride. The breeze of each stroke was glorious. Time passed without my knowledge or permission, but it wasn’t wasted.  I could see my banana seat bike lying safe in the empty lot, as I used paint and panel, without measure. 

We don’t say it that much anymore — the one thing I always heard on VanDyke road, from my mother, from neighbors on front porches and open screen doors — “Have fun!” they said, waving with hands not just to say hello, but to be a part of the breeze. So I say it to you, today, do something not because you have to, but because you want to. Have a little fun! Forget about the destination, and just ride.