Goodbye
During a motorcycle road trip, my two companions and I were having lunch at a restaurant in the Mount Rushmore tourist area when a man entered and asked, "Are those your bikes parked outside? Some guy just ran into one of them with a truck."
We hurried outside and found Jim's beautiful Honda Gold Wing lying on its side, looking wounded. As Jim talked to the truck driver, I was impressed by his calm and respectful demeanor. Later, I asked him how he was able to remain composed. He replied, "Unlike you Harley guys, I am not my bike."
Jim demonstrated an understanding of the Buddha's teachings on attachment as the cause of suffering, even though he probably had never studied Buddhism. By not identifying with his motorcycle, he was able to handle the situation with equanimity.
Over 20 years ago, when I saw Jim's bike on the ground, my first reaction was relief that it wasn't mine. Unlike Jim, I identified with my motorcycle. It defined me. Perhaps because it was loud, powerful, and fast, everything that I wasn't, or thought I wasn't. I rode that motorcycle for 95,000 miles with all of the Harley leathers, t-shirts, and any other Harley paraphernalia that I could find. One of my fondest memories was my ride from San Antonio, TX to Calgary, Canada with my 10-year-old son on the back. It was a high point in my life, although I'm not sure I could say the same for him. Regardless, it was a memory that will last forever.
This week, I sold my motorcycle and let go of my attachment to it. It was like watching a son or daughter go off to college, knowing that you wouldn’t see them every day. I watched a part of my life go away ridden by a stranger. It was a bittersweet moment, but it was time to let go of the past.
As the Buddha discovered, holding on to anything, a person, a thing, or the past is a recipe for unhappiness. As I said goodbye, I felt sadness but also a sense of lightness.
In the words of Alexander Graham Bell, "When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one that has opened for us."
Now that I don’t have my old Harley to look at each time I walk into the garage, I’m looking at my new Triumph Bonneville, which is opening a new door for my next motorcycle adventure.