I’ve been ruminating on a subject of deservedness. It is simply, “do I deserve (am entightled to?) wallow so wonderfully in sad songs and brooding books?”
Lets be very clear, I love nothing more than joining Matt Beringer in (not) pouring my guts out and singing Slipped in the most sorrowful tones available to me. My atonal sorrow and Matt’s baritone: bizarre. The point isn’t my singing: it’s that I love the wallow so much. Which I think is utterly undeserved.
I am fat, happy, a father, a husband, an employee, a sublime set of circumstances.
I had been chewing over this for a while. And then, today, and friend and I undertook an ill-planned adventure on my bicycle. A 36km river trail which can at be be described as two advanced trekking tracks linked by a road section and 50 switchbacks down a cliff. Even the forestry roads near the end which may have offered relief were strewn with boot sized rocks, which, on a touring/cross bike were tiresome.
After hours of battling the trails and the object goal made, we bailed from the trails and found a road home. 33km to go, we were dog tired. The first 9km of which was a slog up 300m. Then… A 30kmh southerly picked up, I crested the hill and had 24km to go with a very fair wind and downhill almost the whole way. Free miles. Miles that didn’t cost me a thing. Utterly free miles. The whole time I was thinking: “I don’t deserve these free miles… Here I am, big ring, little cog, hands on the flats, spinning out, I don’t deserve these free miles”.