January 2015–April 2022
January 2015–April 2021
August 2013–January 2015
2006–2010
Long, black streaks crisscrossed the faded cul-de-sac in front of my childhood home. On most afternoons coming home from grade school, I’d spin my department store single-speed up to maximum warp, then slam the pedals backward and lock up my brakes. My record skid mark was nearly 18 feet—almost as long as I could wheelie. I’ve always loved to ride a bike.
Then, one day, I crashed. A lazy, looping turn to the left, a sharp wobble, and I met the pavement hard enough to bounce. As I slunk out from underneath the wreckage, I saw that my handlebars had a new kink in them. So did my right arm.
Six weeks in a cast is an eternity when you’re trying to learn cursive. Even longer when you can’t ride your bike. A constant frustration set in. I couldn’t do the things I wanted, and I felt stuck that way. But around the time I started to wonder if I’d ever have fun again, I noticed something different about myself. “I can’t” slowly began sounding more like “Why can’t I?”. Day by day, I tried new things in new ways. Momentum built. Before long, there was plenty I could manage to do left-handed. Write in my journal. Pet Cleo the cat. Sew together a stuffed saguaro cactus out of olive-colored felt. I had learned to adapt. I was living again.
As I advance in my professional life, I can’t help but remember my childhood and the snags I once had to overcome. More importantly, the tools it took to overcome them. The nature of being a creative professional is to thrive in a dynamic and changing environment. It’s helpful to know I’ve been through that before. To know I can turn “I can’t” into “Why can’t I?”. To look back and feel the relief of finally riding my bike again, better off for the growth it took to get there.
Keep the rubber side down,
Nate Ripley