“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.” – Charles Dickens.

The owner of the bike store and one of my doctors both suggested it might be wiser to wait until my heart cath was over tomorrow before deciding whether or not to buy an e-bike, which I now call Betty.

It was good advice, but nobody ever called me wise, and I have never lived in that way. I believe in living out of my heart, not my mind. The heart is my teacher and my guide. The heart is the point, which is what our election is all about to me.

When a young and creative woman tells me their boyfriend, father, husband, or brother urge them to get a day job before singing or painting or acting, I tell them I don’t agree. If you get a day job, I see,  you will never give up that paycheck or those benefits to sing or paint.

Getting a day job is a resignation from the creative life, most often for good. Sane and grounded people don’t choose creative lives; they are not for the life insecure.

For me, the lack of security and money and safety are the great motivators if my life. If I don’t write, I don’t eat. Would I do that if I had a lot of money in the bank?

My heart told me that getting the bike was an affirmation that I knew I would be all right that my heart is healthy, and not ready to quit. My heart told me it was not for doctors to tell me how to live; it was up to my heat.

If I got the bike, I just knew that I would be riding it long past the surgery.

“Your bike can now become your Freedom Wheels!” wrote a blog reader named Jeanne Miller.” Every revolution of those wheels will take you farther away from those awful experiences. To be safe and happy on a bike, we need to keep our eyes looking where we’re going rather than where we’ve been.”

The bike has already affected my life. My legs are sore and my backaches. Maria was inspired to go out into the barn, clean out a stall, put up a canvas tent, and build an easy-to-access and protected home for the bike.

I was so afraid I called my therapist, who I hadn’t spoken to in a decade. Make it yours, she said.

I tried this out this morning, and Maria was so right. I no longer have to haul the big bike around the house or down the porch steps to the street. I walk into the stall, pull off the coverings, and ride Betty out to the road.

I went a couple of miles and then found a side road which was another couple of miles long and was almost entirely flat, a perfect placet to learn about the bike and all those levers.

I’ve had the fear; now I’m getting the joy. I love this ride, the wind in my face, the corn rising everywhere, I didn’t see a single car while I rode. I did about four or five miles; my heart purred like a kitten. When it got hot, I headed for home.

This was the perfect road for me to ride, to learn, to get in shape.

First, I stuck with it through the fear; then I discovered the joy of it. It was quiet and beautiful on the road; the bike followed me pedaling to the T. I’ve found a road I will return to again and again as I learn.

Jeanne gave me the best advice. While riding, I thought every turn of the wheel was a step farther from those awful nights lying in my urine—another step from my father’s endless lectures about my lack of resolve.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, forty minutes after I had left, I was free and secure and very far away from those unhappy days.