Why are bikes stable when moving, but fall over when we stop?
The biggest reason is the forward momentum of the rider. When we ride, the angular momentum on the wheels makes it difficult for external forces to move the bike. But a stationary bike has non-moving wheels and zero angular momentum, making it easy for external forces to move it around.
It’s the first rule when riding a bike: forward motion is essential, or prepare to fall.
In our lives, it feels natural to focus on forward velocity. What’s on the schedule? What jobs must I complete? How do I maximise my productivity? Maybe we talk faster, take fewer breaks, interrupt and bulldose onto the next thing. The intention might be nice, perhaps to better the world, but the result is constant motion.
Don’t fall off the bike.
But our lives are not bikes. It works just fine if we let someone else speak, take some time off or sleep in a little. While we’re resting and recovering, the world will move on. And when we’re feeling refreshed or more grounded, we’ll be in a better place to better it.
Some of the most meaningful moments in my life have been in slow, quiet moments alone with a book, my journal or just enjoying a loved one’s company. The fast-paced moments are nice, but not particularly memorable.
Recently, I’ve tried waking up with a new mindset. It goes something like what Marcus Aurelius said 1900 years ago:
“When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: the people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous and surly. They are like this because they can’t tell good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own – not of the same blood and birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. And so none of them can hurt me. No one can implicate me in ugliness. Nor can I feel angry at my relative, or hate him. We were born to work together like feet, hands and eyes, like the two rows of teeth, upper and lower. To obstruct each other is unnatural. To feel anger at someone, to turn your back on him: these are unnatural.”
Essentially: to expect the worst.
When you cross the street, expect a car to run you over. When you go outside, expect it to start raining. When you turn on your laptop, expect it to crash unexpectedly.
When it does happen, you’re not bothered. You were prepared. When it doesn’t happen – which is usually – you feel amazing.
It’s not about having low standards for yourself. It’s about framing your reality in a different light: one that is more helpful to your best life.
Skydiving is one of those things that sounds great on paper, but makes no sense when you actually think about it. Millions of years of evolutionary biology scream against jumping out of planes. If you fell from 5,000 feet, do you know how much momentum you would hit the ground at? A lot. And trusting some ropes and nylon to save your life? No thanks.
Nonetheless, it has been on my bucket list for a while, so I decided to take my partner skydiving for her birthday. It turned out to be a lifechanging experience.
It was a warm and sunny morning, and we got in the helicopter two hours later than expected. There were fourteen of us: two pilots, six passengers, and six instructors strapped in the room. When we took off from the ground, it didn’t feel too strange. I could still see cars, people and buildings from the window. Just a little smaller than my apartment view.
But soon, things started getting serious. Buildings, then roads, then residential blocks began turning into specks. The CBD buildings, which completely dominate my apartment view, could barely be made out. I started noticing random plains of grass and wheat from my height, which you only see way out of town. I began to squirm nervously.
And this was only at 5,000 feet. We kept going. 10,000 feet. 11,000 feet. 12,000 feet. I just wanted it to stop. Looking outside and knowing there was only one way down made me sick. 13,000 feet. 14,000 feet. How I regretted my actions in that moment. I looked down and couldn’t make out anything but colours. Just blue: the Pacific ocean, and bits of brown, grey and green: Earth. Finally, we reached 15,000 feet: over 4.5km in the air. A red light turned to a yellow light and the door flew open. Vicious, cold air assaulted the helicopter and only then did I realise it was happening. We were going to jump off from a ridiculously stupid height.
We were probably going to die.
I was one of the last passengers to leave, which is terrible because you see other people getting pushed off in front of you. You hear their screams, you see their panicked faces and watch them tumble back to Earth. It happens so fast, as well: one moment they’re in front of you, the next they’re gone. It could be the last time you ever see them.
And then it was my turn. My instructor, a big Aussie dude, shoved me to the door, where I could see how far up we were. I literally could not see anything but a land mass and the Pacific ocean. The instructor yelled “legs out!” and before I knew it, I was in the air.
Will Smith once said, “God placed the best things in life on the other side of fear.” I never really agreed with that. Naps were great, and weren’t scary. Nandos was delicious, and easy to order from. Books were delightful, and always a pleasure.
But I think I’ve changed my mind.
The fear, doubt and disbelief you feel going up the helicopter all vanishes when you’re in freefall. You feel a complete loss of weight, the wind pressing up against your skin, and the sun bearing down on you. You see Earth gradually getting bigger and bigger, and you notice how the horizon dips closer and closer down to the ground. You notice parts of your city that you had never seen before: random parks, ovals and land masses. You see how small everything looks and realise how grand the world really is.
It is bliss.
When you land, you are a changed person. You have defied millions of years of evolutionary biology and lived to tell the tale. When you were flying through the air, you realised that all your problems pale in comparison to the beauty that is life. You feel grateful at being alive, of seeing your loved ones again, and once the nausea wears off, you’ll enjoy food like never before.
What lies on the other side of fear? I don’t know. Probably many things. But there are some beautiful opportunities waiting out there, locked behind a payment of fear, which will open up to you if you have the courage to face them.
In the mighty jungle there existed an old lion called Syphus. In his younger days, Syphus was considered by many to be the king of the jungle for his cunning and intelligence, though he never claimed this title for himself. Though there were stronger and bigger beasts than him, they all submitted to his sharp and manipulative wit.
One day, when it was time for Syphus to die, the grim reaper came to take Syphus to the underworld. He visited Syphus at his house, where the lion was sleeping. The lion had managed to live to a ripe age of 15 years, and though he could perhaps live for a few years more, Death had decided to take his life that day.
Syphus awoke when he felt the grim reaper’s presence next to him. “So it is time?” he said, less as a question, but more as a sad statement. The reaper nodded. “Before you take me away,” Syphus said, “let me say goodbye to my children.” Out of respect, the reaper allowed this for the old creature. Syphus quickly turned away and ran to his forty children in the nearby fields. These were the true kings of the jungle; the beasts were in their prime age, with healthy, muscular bodies and a proud hide of fur.
“Kids,” he said to them, panting. “There is an intruder in my house. Please come and dispose of him.” His children, who were of loyal and protective personalities, immediately jumped into action. They rushed into his house, and upon seeing the grim reaper, jumped on him. The grim reaper, who had never experienced being attacked, had no time to shift into his spectral form. His physical body was torn into pieces instantly.
Syphus walked in cautiously. Upon seeing the corpse of the reaper, he smiled broadly and declared with a roar, “Tonight we party!”
In the underworld, Death noticed something was odd. There had been no new deaths for three weeks, and he had not seen his grim reaper for a long time either. He looked at his list of creatures who were meant to have died, and found their souls absent from his domain. He turned to his wife.
“Darling,” he asked. “Have you seen Grimmy anywhere?”
His wife thought for a moment and looked at him curiously.
“No.”
Death began to shake nervously. He called his messenger, Herm, and told him to investigate what had happened to his grim reaper. After hearing the situation, the messenger left and traveled up to the living world.
Meanwhile, an excited commotion was happening in the jungle. Animals who were expected to die were suddenly getting better, and injuries that were considered fatal began to heal. Some suggested that animals were beginning to “evolve” into greater beings, and some attributed this healing to some divine providence. Syphus looked over the discussion with smug delight.
In these last few weeks, Syphus walked around with newfound energy. Since he had cheated death, his outlook on life completely shifted. He began roaring at the most mundane things, waking up early to appreciate the sunrise and spent more time with his family. The act of having nearly lost something often makes you appreciate it more.
Syphus had buried the grim reaper under an oak tree. The children seemed confused – they had no idea who the being was, and it didn’t taste like any animal they had ever encountered before. Syphus reassured them that he would explain all in due time, when they were older. The beasts left, confused but satisfied.
When Herm found the grim reaper, he choked back tears. The two had grown up together and had been friends for over 8000 years. He remembered filling his first death list with him, and how he had teased him for falling in love with a human. Herm looked at the list of scheduled deaths, saw Syphus on the list, and put the story together. He rushed back down to the underworld as fast as his wings could take him, determined to avenge his friend.
When Death heard the story, he was enraged. Nobody had ever dared defy Him before, let alone murder his representative. He slowly got up from his throne, transformed into his living form, surrounded by locusts and darkness, and went outside.
In the jungle, a sudden coldness could be felt that evening. The trees seemed to sway less lively, the night seemed to grow darker and the crops began to wilt. Some animals began to notice a creature slowly walking – or floating – across the plains, killing every living thing it came across. A dark trail of death made its way into the jungle.
Syphus was awoken by yells. He looked around and saw that his home had been shredded apart by locusts, that animals around him were aging at an extraordinary rate and the drinking water had turned red. He felt an icy hand on his shoulder. He was face to face with Death. “So you tried to cheat me,” a cold voice said. “You will pay for this.”
Syphus felt a sharp, burning pain throughout his body and felt his soul leaving it. He fell past the Earth, past the seas, past the gate of the underground, past the domain of lost souls, past the throne of Death, into an enormous dungeon with a hill. At the bottom of the hill was a boulder, as large as Syphus himself. The two landed at the bottom.
“As your punishment for playing with me,” Death said, with fire in his eyes, “You must overcome this task. If you can push this rock past the hill,” Death said, waving to the boulder, “you may leave this place.” He grinned, stared at Syphus one last time, and disappeared into darkness.
The lion looked up at the hill in front of him. He couldn’t see past the top: it had to be more than a kilometre in height. The boulder was also one of the biggest rocks he had ever seen. It would have weighed as much as a rhino.
But Syphus wasn’t one to give up, and found a comfortable enough hold on the rock. With all his might, he pressed against the boulder and it began to slowly move. He could not stop, for if he didn’t apply continuous pressure, the boulder and him would come tumbling down the hill.
The lion strained against the rock for days, then months, then years. Each day he would only make a few meters of progress, before he had to rest the boulder against his back. Over time, his fur was filled with cuts and bruises and his bones began to ache. But finally, after a decade of pushing from the bottom of the hill, he had nearly reached the top. The mountain had begun to flatten out, and he could see past the summit. There was a golden gate in front of him, one that led to somewhere better, whether it was the living world, or heaven. Just a few more meters to go…!
Suddenly, the rock slipped by some supernatural force. The lion’s grip, which had proven so reliable over time, lost its power and the rock rolled over his paw. Syphus roared in pain, and the rock’s momentum rolled Syphus all the way back down the hill. He rolled for over an hour, breaking several bones along the way, until he landed back at the bottom of the hill in a heap. When he looked up, the boulder was in its initial spot, and he realised he would need at least another decade to push it all the way back to the top again.
For the next few decades, Syphus pushed the rock every day, in hope of making it to the golden gates. But each time he came into sight of it, the rock would come tumbling back down. Sometimes there was rain that made the boulder slip; other times there were vultures that tore the lion’s hand apart.
To this day, the lion can be found at the bottom of the underworld, desperately pushing the boulder to the golden gates, serving his punishment for cheating Death.
Most important events in life can be separated into two categories: a good time, or a good story.
We always wish for more good times, but it’s often the stories that make our lives extraordinary. The unexpected turns; the deaths; the heartbreaks. The moments that seem unbearable in the moment, but in retrospect, made that chapter of our lives breathtaking.
A lot of people don’t like moving. It can be disruptive, expensive and filled with complications. The new place might have broken elevators, noisy neighbours and be far worse than advertised. I don’t mind it, though. This is my third move in three years and I’ve begun to look forward to this annual tradition.
I like the nostalgia of digging up old relics and reminiscing on old times. I like looking at a worn, torn article of clothing, remembering how much I used to wear it, and putting it in a donate basket. I like throwing out junk from under a bed or behind a desk, appreciating a sight of a room without clutter. I like cleaning the apartment once it’s empty, restoring it to its initial condition, despite there being 12 months of precious memories in my memory.
I like moving into a new place, inhabiting the space where other people once lived. I like imagining the laughter, the tears, the mundane meals that were had in the different rooms; rooms now free for us to use. I like walking into an empty bedroom and being able to design it in a way that suits my current values and personality, like it is a canvas ready to be painted on.
Most of all, I like the reminder that time is full of transitions. That people evolve, and new apartments can be vessels for this shifting nature.
A few days ago, I realised I like ambitious people.
I like people who improve themselves every day, who have goals nobody else has, who have daily routines deemed absurd by others, who voluntarily suffer more for growth. These will become the top students, athletes and artists of their circles. They work the hardest, the smartest, and become better versions of themselves with time.
When I sense ambition in someone, it draws me to them. They become more interesting. I will unconsciously seek them out.
The opposite is true. Unambitious people aren’t as interesting to me. When I talk to someone and it’s clear that they are happy living a quiet life without much growth, I slowly lose interest. It’s unlikely we’ll keep in contact.
It’s not that I think worse of them or they are less valuable. I don’t consider an ambitious person’s life more important than an unambitious person’s life.
It’s just that there is a force that exists in people who are not content being average, and aim for perfection. People who recognise that their time is limited, and fight to make the most of it. People who have bigger goals than simply their hedonistic satisfaction, and endure suffering for a greater purpose. People who secretly know it’s all probably pointless in the end, but still fights in a war that is already marked with their loss.
Over the last few months, I’ve been training at a mixed martial arts gym. I’ve mostly been training brazillian jiu-jitsu, but have dabbled in some boxing, muay thai and strength classes. Initially, the classes were overwhelming and I felt way out of my league. But with time, I began to learn from my teachers and sparring partners until I could hold my own.
Training MMA has had an interesting influence on my psychology. I’ve begun to stroll more confidently down streets, thinking I’ll be able to protect myself if I get jumped. I used to walk around people smoking or drinking in groups, but now I walk through them because it’s easier. This wasn’t consciously, of course. It’s as if the bruises on my body signalled to my brain that I was untouchable. The irony!
Until one day I almost did get into a fight. I was walking through a nearby park one night when I accidentally bumped shoulders with a man walking his dog. We both turned around at the same time and stared at each other. I was 181cm with skinny arms; he was 185cm+ with some of the thickest biceps I’d ever seen. A part of me thought it was time to throw down. He looked tense, angry and I felt like he wanted to fight as well.
But then I heard myself speaking. “Sorry man.” I smiled at him. “Didn’t mean it.” He instantly relaxed and smiled back. “No worries, buddy.” We parted our ways quietly and I never saw him again.
That night, I realised that the best self-defence is not martial arts. The best way to stay safe is to be the person nobody wants to punch. The guy who’s too friendly, too funny or too smart to have a target on his back. Knowing how to not get punched in the first place is far more helpful than knowing how to dodge one.
Sure, knowing how to box or kick is helpful. But if you scowl at too many people, thinking you’re invincible, there’s no knowing when a bottle will unexpectantly land on your head.
Over the last five days in Covid quarantine, I’ve done close to nothing. Because when you’re sick, nothing is all you’re capable of.
My days were spent sleeping, watching mindless YouTube videos, cooking food, then sleeping again. The only things anchoring me to society were phone calls with loved ones, brief conversations with my housemate and the occasional tutoring.
It felt so easy to be stuck on autopilot. To just rotate between sleeping, eating and scrolling. It was terrifying.
I know – rest is important. I know – staying inside was the right decision. I know – there’s not much I could do.
But this time with Omicron has made me realise how easily we can throw away our lives if we’re not careful. Distractions are becoming outrageously addictive and impossible to ignore. Unmonitored, they can take away time from more intentional and purposeful activities without us even realising.
As I’m typing this post, I have a sore throat, cough, fever and runny nose. I also have lost my sense of smell, taste and have a headache.
Yep – I probably have Covid (my PCR test results two days ago haven’t come back yet).
Today was the sickest I’ve felt in over two years. I had no energy to eat, get out of bed or read a book. During the day, I seriously thought I was going to die.
But as I’m slowly getting better, and my symptoms begin to fade, I have also become appreciative of what I do have. An immune system that can fight off the virus. Lovely friends, family and support networks. The ability to nap undisturbed on a comfy bed for three hours.
Typing this now is the best I’ve felt all day. And while I’m functioning at <10% of my usual capacity, it feels really good to have regained some ability to concentrate.
To know your days are numbered, that your body will break, is what gives life urgency and beauty.
