Motorcycles and Heroes

I am on my way to a cafe, on my preferred mode of transportation, my red 1991 Kawasaki motorcycle. I am weaving through some residential side streets when I pass a couple kids playing on the sidewalk. One of the boys looks up at me with a devilish grin, pretends to grip handlebars, and revs his imaginary engine, probably a two-cylinder monster Harley low-rider. I cruise past, smiling at him, lifting a hand high enough to christen him with a peace sign. He smiles back, a knowing look, the kind of unsaid admiration that at the same time pays respect and tells me one day he'll be the guy on the bike.

I don't know how many times that moment has repeated itself over the 8 years I've driven my bike. It is almost as if little boys have genes programmed to detect loud, exhaust-spewing, two-wheeled cruisers; they'll spot it from anywhere, craning their necks to grasp one more look at my bike as they're pulled away by their parents, or whisked away in a car. There is something deep and meaningful in those looks that signify much more than a casual interest, a transitory whim. There is a desire to become greater, better, stronger, to ride faster than the wind, and to rise above all mundane constraints.

It makes me think of how all little boys and girls need heroes. They need them like they need jam with their peanut butter sandwich or Kool-Aid with their snack. It is as palpable as the sensations of thirst, hunger, or sleep. I remember how I spent the better part of my childhood in an imaginary world where secret agents, raging dinosaurs, and evil sidekicks lurked around every corner, hidden in the deep recesses of my basement, probably somewhere between the furnace and my dad's toolbox. But no matter who the bad guy was that day, I was the hero, wielding sticks for swords, towels for capes, and boldly leaping into the heat of action. I was invincible.

I wonder how much my fascination with superheroes lead me to become a circus artist today. By almost every definition of a superhero, I am one. I wear tights (don't get the wrong idea), don a secret identity (my parents can't even find me onstage), and execute beyond-human feats of acrobatic prowess. And, just like superheroes, acrobats fall down, get hurt, suffer the sting of hubris, and learn to gather strength to try again.

After 12 years of the circus life however, I am convinced that being a hero is much more than proving how high you can jump or how many flips you can do. That initial fascination with pushing human boundaries has metamorphosed into a desire to pushing the limits within, to stretch the impossible that shackles the soul, the heart. The same constraints that prevent an acrobat from executing some crazy maneuver - things like gravity, power, and physics - also lock down the acrobat inside. I have a part of my soul that seeks to see things from different perspectives, be it the way I construct my company or how I deal with a long distance relationship, and the gravity of the situation is as real as the 9.81m/s2 that sucks my body to the floor when I miss a flip.

Acrobatics is about developing awareness, a finely tuned third eye that knows when your right big toe is not pointed, when your arm is extended at 93 degrees and not at a right angle, or when you're about to under-rotate, so you better crank that last spin and open quick enough to land on your feet. So it is too, I believe, with the evolution of the soul. We create larger and deeper receivers to hear the subtle nuances and messages the universe is trying to send us. There is no easy path to awareness, inner or outer, only practice, honest self-critique, and a willingness to do it again and again.

I am past the kid on the sidewalk, whom I will probably never see again. It is a fleeting moment in time, but the knowing glance he gave me tells me that he is a superhero in his own right. He has a path, a mission, and the imagination to get there. I secretly wish him well, and send him a silent warning of the challenges and bridges to cross on his way to slay the dragons. The only difference is, the day he crosses that bridge, it will probably be on a Harley.

-Alvin.