Ever since I was little, I’ve had a desire to do things ‘my way’ and for most of my life, I’ve lived that way – often, to my own detriment. Sinatra’s “My Way” could very well be the anthem for my life.
During my teenage years, I heard a wise man tell me “There is bondage in rebellion and freedom in submission.” as it pertains to our relationship with God.
If you’re like me, a statement like that will probably make the hair stand up on the back of your neck, and your lip curl into a snarl. After all, words like that seem to contradict the very notion of being ‘free’ and ‘sovereign’ beings.
Recently, I heard somebody phrase a question that made me think twice about the concept of freedom and submission, quoted below:
“Who is more free to play the piano; the child who bangs on it and does whatever they want, or the student, disciplined in his practice, obedient to his teacher and a master of the laws of music theory? Which one contributes more to the world?”
When I was a child, there were a lot of things that I wanted to do. Many of which, I acted out as I got older and out of the bounds of my parents reach/rules. For example, I was desperate to ride a motorcycle as a child, and my parents did everything within their power to try to talk me out of it.
I resented them for it. I thought they were simply trying to put a damper on my joy and freedom to have fun in the world around me.
What did I do in my 30’s? I got a motorcycle. Was I smart with it? Absolutely not.
In the United States, you’re legally required to go to a school and learn how to safely operate a motorcycle before you get your licensure to ride a bike. I circumnavigated that requirement by getting a motorcycle during my time in Mexico.
Did I go to motorcycle ‘school’? Absolutely not. I bought the bike – a Suzuki M50 – and watched a handful of Youtube videos before deciding to take it for a spin.
Was that smart? Absolutely not. I could have gotten myself killed. Easily.
I won’t forget the last ride I took on that motorcycle. I had just gotten the bike tuned up with an oil change and decided to take it for a ride a few days later. It had just the right amount of time to ‘break in’ to the new oil and it rode…beautifully. For an entire afternoon, I drove care-free in Tulum while Alice Cooper was blasting through the stereo system.
The next morning, I woke up and had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I walked outside and saw that ‘Snakebite’ was gone…stolen.
In a lot of ways, I felt like that was the death of a dream that I had wanted for a very long time. However, I also knew in my head that it was probably for the best. After all, every ride I took on her was another roll of the dice with my life. Play the game enough and you’re sure to lose.
When I got back to the states, I’d take the occasional ride here and there with my friend, Michael Jackson. In the back of my mind, there was one ‘itch’ I wanted to scratch; riding without a helmet.
Was that a stupid wish? Undoubtedly.
“There’s freedom in submission – and bondage in rebellion.”
“There’s safety in wearing a helmet – and death in riding without one.”
Well, I scratched that itch. My way, after all…
Mike and I decided to take an afternoon ride and we drove over to his warehouse to pick up the bikes we were going to ride that day. Admittedly, there are few things that make me smile like somebody pointing to small platoon of motorcycles and saying the words:
“Pick one.”
That afternoon, I picked out the most badass bike in the lot; a Harley Davidson Fat Boy with chrome pipes loud enough for Helen Keller to hear. What I didn’t pick up was a helmet.
“I’ll be fine this time” I told myself. After all, riding sans-protection was something I always dreamed of doing.
There were two things I realized as soon as we began our ride. The first was that riding without a helmet was incredible; you could feel the wind going through your hair and there was nothing getting between you and the open air (or the bugs).
The second thing I realized is that I wished I had worn a helmet that day.
We rode for hours in the hot Texas sun. I listened to Alice Cooper while the wind screamed in my ears, and for a brief moment in time – I felt invincible.
“I feel like a f*cking man” I thought, as I straddled the Fat Boy, breathing in the smell of the exhaust, the roar of the engine and feeling the hot metal of my Glock tucked into my waistband. Yes, I truly ‘felt’ like a man at that moment…going 80 miles an hour down the highway – without a helmet.
How I felt didn’t change the fact that what I was doing in that moment was completely idiotic – Primarily, riding without proper protection. Secondarily, riding in the first place.
See, that ‘manly’ moment could have come to a screeching halt if a Toyota Prius decided to side-swipe me on the highway. Why? Because at that speed, there was no chance that I’d survive an accident.
There’s this odd dichotomy that happens when you know you’re walking a razors-edge between life and death, and I experienced it for a few moments. It felt like being in the eye of a hurricane; a cool, calm sense of peace that made all of the noise of my life go silent.
Behind all of the exhilaration of riding faster than I’d ever been, was the cold realization that I’d be a dead man if I lost control of the motorcycle at that speed. Chances are, even a helmet and full leathers woudln’t have helped much in the case of an accident.
I had a flashback of my Opa who vividly described the feeling he had when he got into his first dogfight in an airplane.
Tracer bullets screaming through the air, the sound of machine guns pounding as he watched a a fellow B-25 Mitchell burst into flames.
He screamed into the radio: “I don’t like being in the Air Force, and I tried to tell you that before….”
His cry was drowned out in in the firefight. He thought “Am I a man? Will somebody tell me if I am a man if I have done this shit long enough?”
That’s how I felt as I was racing down the highway. Before I knew it, the ride was over and I remember feeling an insatiable sense of relief as I turned off the Fat Boy.
That day, I promised myself I wouldn’t ride again*. To this day, I’ve kept that promise.
Why do I share this story? Because, the older I get, the more I realize the importance of submission to God’s plan for my life, and a cold recognition that I’ve rebelled against it for most of the years that I’ve been alive.
Like riding a motorcycle without a helmet, I’ve often pushed against the part of my spirit that ‘knows best’ in pursuit of my own wants and desires. The outcome? Each time, I’ve come up short, dissatisfaied at the ‘fruits’ of my own labor when there’s a feast waiting for me on the other side of Gods plan.
It’s hard for me to admit this as a 38 year-old man, that ‘my way’ hasn’t been the best way. However, I’ve reached a point of surrender in my life that has come as a result of learning far too many hard lessons – while narrowly dodging catastrophic events in my life (like riding without a helmet) enough to know that eventually, my ‘luck’ will run out.
It doesn’t make a lot of ‘logical’ sense to surrender to a Higher Power. However, there’s a part of me that’s come to terms with the fact that I’ve bet – and lost – enough of my chips in this life that it’s time to make the move to full surrender.
“It’s not our submitting to the truth that is oppresive and tyrannical – it’s our ignorance of it.
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