The calendar says autumn has arrived in the Florida Panhandle. But you can still feel summer’s breath on your neck — lingering, like a satisfied lover. Here, on the edge of the Gulf of Mexico, there’s no turning back when the season departs for constellations of the Southern skies. So summer takes her time, granting us a few extra weeks of warm sunsets even as the colors of autumn spread with the coming chill to our north.
Yesterday was one of those evenings. I pushed my bicycle out the door and headed Downtown, toward the heart of old Pensacola. I embraced the carfree lifestyle last spring for all the utilitarian reasons I’ve written about in the past. But I left out something important, and it applies to all of the changes in my more minimal life: I have come to love simplicity for the simple joy of it.
You get back more than you put down
In the case of swapping two wheels for four, there are inconveniences: out-of-town trips, learning to ride in bad weather and with bulky cargo, and the occasional condescension of those who consider the idea of living without a car beneath their social station.
In exchange, I no longer pay onerous insurance rates. My bicycle burns belly fat instead of gasoline, and our state’s recent auto tag and title hike meant nothing to me. I have no fear of car repair shops.
All helpful things. They pale, however, in comparison to just a few of the things from last night’s ride:
- I could smell the camellias in someone’s yard half a block before I reached them
- A couple introduced me to their Wirehaired Fox Terrier
- The crunching of autumn’s first acorns under the tires
- Being able to stop at the top of the bridge and see sunset on the bay
- A flight of pelicans crossing the waterfront
- The woman with a glass of wine who waved from her loft balcony
- The glow from people’s windows after dusk
I’m sure I could list a dozen more. There will be a fresh crop of experiences the next time I ride — and every time after that.
Simplicity is about revealed joy
There’s a richness to unadorned life. This can be grasped intellectually, I suppose, but it’s a bit like meditation, which happens on a cushion, not the pages of a book.
Strip away the clutter, the unnecessary, the things-we-need-but-really-don’t. That’s when joy punches you in the chest. You find it in the smallest things. Or, rather: Undistracted, joy finds you.
Bicycle in autumn photo by Bev Sykes / CC BY 2.0
