Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

Meet Esperanza.

Of course there’s a story behind her name, but I’ll get to that in a little bit.

Have you ever felt the power of potential? Like you’re inhabiting a moment in which you could go in any direction, and regardless of the one you chose, it would be a good one? Have you ever felt your limits sluice off your shoulders, like the spray from a shower as it spills down your body?

Have you ever felt mighty?

I have before, but it’s been a long, long time and several dozen pounds ago. I thought those days were behind me, quite honestly. I was never happy about it, but I’d resigned myself to the fact that I would never be as thin as I once was, and thanks to my knee, I’d probably never be able to get as fit as I once was.

But earlier today, thanks to my new (to me) road bike, I was able to pedal up a hill I studiously avoid when I’m on my Dutch bike. I don’t even like to walk up this hill, y’all. I took this picture at the top of the hill to commemorate my accomplishment. It isn’t a particularly great photo, but it means the world to me.

I wasn’t fast. And I sure as hell wasn’t elegant. But in that moment, all of the doubt and angst and bad feelings I’ve been harbouring about this body just… left me. A little part of my soul opened up and grew wings. I can see what will be possible now, with only a little effort, time, and patience.

Emily Dickinson once wrote:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

It was hope that led me to go against reason and buy this bike. It was a hope that I could be fitter, faster, and yes, better than I am now. Hope is a powerful motivator, and hope, if I’m being quite honest, keeps me alive most of the time.

Earlier today I was out for a ride around the seawall. I was sure that buying this bike was one of the worst decisions I could’ve ever made. I thought the tires were too skinny and my ass too fat. I stopped at a bike shop and asked the tech whether he thought it would be a good idea to get slightly wider tires. He cautioned me against it, but instead told me to make sure that the rear tire is inflated to a slightly higher pressure than my front, as it would make all the difference in how stable the bike would feel for someone like me.

I pedalled away, feeling a little more sure than I was before, and started thinking about a name for this bike. The model is called Solo, so Han seemed like a logical, if obvious choice. Then I thought of Hope, because of the hopes I’d hung on its delicate frame.

Hope. Hope Solo. Cute, right?

But not right. So I let my mind wander as it tends to when my legs find a comfortable cadence, and I remembered that hope, in Spanish, is esperanza.

And so, because of what she stands for, because she gives me wings with which to fly, and because she’s helping to keep me alive, I’ve named her Esperanza.

You can call her Espie or Hopey for short.