Meditation and Free-Association

Although I claim to be a city girl of late, I didn't start off that way. Nine of my very formative years were spent living in the depths of suburbia.

Anyone who knows me has heard me rant at least once about the evils of suburban living. However, if you knew me 20 years ago, you would have seen a younger me, enjoying the one very good thing about living outside the boundaries of the city: There are many, many safe places to go for a bike ride.

Sure, Chicago has many bike paths, but the in place where I spent those nine important years, no time was wasted in looking for a path. Directly across from the subdivision where my parents built our house was a huge business park. Large tracts of nearly unused and very smooth pavement were at my disposal, dipping into valleys and hills. Trees and a very large swamp surrounded this park, and at night, floodlights ensured that the whole place was brighter than it had been during the day. Swamp critters chattered loudly, and the air smelled of ragweed.

I often shared a joyride with my friends during the day, but after dinner in the summer, I liked to go out and ride alone. I suppose I always found this meditative. At no time in the year did this evening ride mean more to me than the last week of summer before school started. I remember trying to savor every last drop of freedom out of that week. Something about the evening air in late August will always carry that feeling for me. The oppressive humidity of Summer has usually dissipated by then, and it is truly the most beautiful time of the year in northern Illinois.

Since my days of having the Summers off are long behind me, I'd forgotten all about my solitary freedom rides. I'm often too busy or too tired to ride. And this Summer has been particularly hot. I've been getting my exercise in my airconditioned living room.

This weekend found me completely on my own. I had no plans with anyone, and other than a few household chores, I had absolutely nothing to do. At first I kind of liked this idea, but as the day dragged on, I was starting to get listless and depressed. I'm so used to being with other people! I spent most of a very glorious day inside watching movies. By this evening, my body was sore from sitting on the couch all day, and I was feeling very sorry for myself.

Before I ended up in the abyss, I guilted myself into going outside. Around eight or so, as the sun started going down, I remembered that I had just learned of a bike path that I wanted to explore, and that I had eaten about half a can of Pringles. Before those Pringles became part of my ass, I decided I'd go check out the path.

For those of you who live in Chicago, the path I'm talking about begins at Argyle, just east of Kedzie, and goes north to Evanston along the river. What a find! First off, there were very few people out on the path. It is very well-paved. Portions of the park are even lit. The trail goes under some major intersections, eliminating the need to stop, while providing a few dips in the trail that lend themselves exceptionally well to speed-coasting. Sure, there are a few annoying intersections, and just where the city meets Lincolnwood, the trail stops abruptly, and begins again, without signage or warning, just to the west, across Devon.

As the trail heads from there to Evanston, there is almost no light. My little headlight was really put to the test. More than once it shone in the eyes of a raccoon. Wildlife!

About halfway into the ride I realized that my mood had changed drastically. I was suddenly euphoric. I felt, well, free. Riding through the park, it was so quiet. I can't remember the last time I heard quietness so distinctly. I listened to the crickets or cicadas and the frogs and all the other river critters. Suddenly, in all of my pastoral bliss, I started thinking about Jerry Lewis and how much I loathed him.

Sensory memories came flooding back to me, opening doors to all kinds of associations from my childhood. I tried to push Jerry out of my mind, after all, why focus on a buzz-kill when I was full of endorphines? But my thoughts kept turning back to Jerry. I started to worry. "Why am I obsessed with Jerry Lewis?" Then, as I left the suburbs and peddled back onto the well-lit city trail, I realized why I was thinking of the elderly, bloated, annoying comedian.

It's the damned telethon! Jerry Lewis's telethon must mean so many positive things to so many people in this world who suffer from MS. He has done more for promoting the research of a cure for this disease than anyone. Yet to me, Jerry Lewis's telethon, held every year on Labor Day weekend, signaled the last 48 hours of unfettered childhood fun until Winter break. School always started on the Tuesday after that holiday.

Of course, Jerry is no longer a threat to my freedom. I sold that the day I finished grad school. But still, it is wonderful to know that the feeling is still there if I choose to find ways to look for it.