WHAT? I have a nice bike you can have, if you come to New York to get it. Damn, Holly. I'm with your daughter. You are a badass, but don't run after bad guys. You need to be an old lady one of these days. You are the most gorgeous writer. I admire your bravery, or "chutzpah" as my people say. Going to text you privately. Stay safe, be careful, live large! xo
Awwwww! Thank you, love. You're one of the kindest people I've met. I've seen your generosity toward me and others, and I am impressed. :)
I love the word chutzpah. Maybe it's because my grandfather was a Ukrainian Jew. Or maybe it's just a good word. And I love it applied to me. ;0) And thank you soooooo much for saying that about my writing. Makes my heart smile.
To living large always!
PS. In case anyone else is reading this response, as I texted Nan, the bike theft was four years back, just as the pandemic was starting to affect policy in the United States. I replaced her a few weeks later with a Craigslist bike I've liked well enough and named Lil Bike Blue.
Your closing line, 'I have everything I need,' is incredibly powerful. It made me pause and reflect on my own definition of 'having.' In a society that often equates possessions with worth, your words are a radical departure. It begs the question: What does it truly mean to 'have'? Is it about material possessions, or something deeper? Your experience suggests that perhaps true 'having' comes from a place of inner strength and connection, rather than external accumulation.
Thank you, thank you for your reflections. I have a funny relationship with possessions. During periods of brick-and-mortar living, what I own has ballooned out. Then I'll jump back on the road and reduce--which can feel ridiculously difficult. Often when I'm stressed, it's accompanied by an, "I have too many things! What are all these things?" But then there are times when getting stuff makes me feel better. Like this one time. It was mid pandemic. The van and I had seen virtually no humans for weeks. There'd been a rodent issue and a refrigeration issue and a heat issue and a mosquito issue. And I went on an ordering spree--sent myself a few packages to an Amazon pickup box and a couple to general delivery at a post office. I ended up getting rousted by a couple of police officers in the town where I was waiting for general delivery because one package was late. It was a whole thing. Nevertheless, I arrived high in a forest a few days later with a van full of loot. Parked up and set my boxes in a pile outside the van. It's funny to remember how good it felt to open those packages.
But yes, as you point out, connection to self and others is a wonderful way to define having--one I try to get closer in touch with.
Thank you for sharing all of that. What a story. But also, what a great illustration of all of this. I’ve still been thinking about your article, as I have flirted with “minimalism” in the past but it never stuck. And so the idea of “having” is still interesting. Because there are some things that I have and that I buy for myself that create profound joy.
Awwww. What a lovely response. Had half a mind to leave it off at the first ending--not so much because of my feelings about the bike but, rather, about the precipice I fear we're on over here in the United States. But I do believe hope and contentment is almost always a better place to leave off.
I love what you say. The spirit that comes through in your glorious writing is a beautiful balance between those two endings. I get what you say about the precipice. But I think that even if things head that way, you will still dazzle us from your tightrope above the roaring waters.
In all seriousness, thank you, Jeffrey. You have a calming presence that comes through in your writing and in your engagement with other writers. And I’m grateful for it.
So very sorry about your bike, but I am glad you are safe. That mask is amazing. I think about this line often, with different words slotted in for the final one. “And is there no camaraderie among the downtrodden?” Kintsugi is such a wonderful metaphor to hold and ponder.
Even if your daughter draws you in pursuit, masked with drawn sword, you have already drawn the portrait with your words. Your stories flash by in brilliant imagery. "I have everything I need" are powerful words of gratitude. Take good care, Holly.
Thank you, Leslie. I so very much appreciate you reading and sharing. "I have everything I need" is at once so simple and so complex. Maybe that's where its power comes from.
If inanimate objects carry ghosts, or something of the spirit of previous owners, imagine yours flying along with the thief, or the person they sold it to. How you are investing something of yourself in this stranger, challenging them to to change, to become better. To learn how to live with the beauty of your final line. A really beautiful (and scary) story, thanks for sharing. I just finished reading "When the World Tips Over" by Jandy Nelson, and two of her characters live out of an RV called Sadie (and her replacement Purple Rain). Synchronicity. I read that book then found you. Keep safe. Keep grateful (which will keep you safe).
I so love the idea of something of the spirit of adventure and the joy of simplicity I shared with that bike hanging out with whoever used her (and I hope loved her) next.
I'm so glad you found me and so appreciate you commenting and sharing the essay! And thank you for the book recc. Will check out "When the World Tips Over." I can't resist characters living in RVs. :) And you're right; gratitude keeps you safe and, I think, free.
I am such a quiet person by nature, not introvert or shy but I avoid a fuss and conflicts but if someone stole my beloved bike.... oh boy! So Yup, I'd have been that same badass Holly, I wouldn't have been able to help myself. And then after realising the futility of the anger...
"A line of gold mixes with lacquer; two fragments join. Take whatever you want, I think. I have everything I need" I love love love this.... yes!!!
Ah that righteous anger, futile though it may be, can spur you into mad feats indeed. I sometimes wonder if a part of me, knowing the danger of confrontation, held me back until it was too late for anything but a plea from a distance.
Ugh the plaintive plea "Please...I love that bike." That was what you were armed with as you gave chase - sincerity. 🥲 But what was old bike's name? We've always named our cars (Otto von Dart was a fave) but we are currently an empty nest of vehicles. 💜
Armed with sincerity. Ha! That’s sort of my typical armor in truth.
Otto von Dart! Love it. Ew an empty nest of vehicles. How lovely. Car-free times are lovely times.
That bike was called Bikey McBikerson II. Her predecessor, Bikey I, was also stolen. But I was much less attached. I adored Bikey II for all of the experiences we’d shared. She wasn’t even a super nice bike. I got her at a yard sale for $200 or so.
I remember you telling us this story way back when. I guess it always struck me that you ran after the theif imploring them to be better.
I just recently ran after a thief. Except I was yelling, cien dolares, dos cientos dólares. I really wanted my phone back because I knew it would be a pain to replace. This was the second phone I had stolen in South America.
The first time it was just a thing, something I could replace. But the second time it was about me being able to be me. That's what really got me, not the loss of the phone but the idea that I couldn't take it out in public anymore. I couldn't take pictures. I had a bit of a breakdown.
They steal more than things, they steal a bit of your freedom. I'm over it now and have a new phone. The new case I have has a card slot. I use the slot to attach a tether with the other end of the tether attached to my camera bag. If someone tries to take it again, they will take me with them.
Ha! That’s the perfect solution. Love it. You absolutely need to be able to take pictures.
I’m so sorry you’re phone got taken AGAIN! That totally blows.
I did not think of offering the thief money to leave the bike behind. But I’m fairly sure nothing I might have said would have changed the outcome of that early morn.
Of course, offering money didn't change the outcome either, but I love that you thought you could appeal to the thief's better side. That is what has always stood out to me about your story - that you didn't necessarily see the theif as a bad person.
The tension between owning something and being liberated from it is so real. Of course, none of us would choose to be robbed, but there's something freeing about giving up a thing you thought you needed. Beautifully written, as always.
Exactly! You said this beautifully, Katharine. That tension is indeed present in this piece and the way I've processed the loss of the bike and other things that have found their way out of my life by various routes, not just the disembodied hand of a thief.
Thank you, Sophie! I think reframing is one of the best things we can do for ourselves. Not in a sugar coating or ignoring the shite way. I mean, we have to feel the feels and be pissed when things go wrong first.
WHAT? I have a nice bike you can have, if you come to New York to get it. Damn, Holly. I'm with your daughter. You are a badass, but don't run after bad guys. You need to be an old lady one of these days. You are the most gorgeous writer. I admire your bravery, or "chutzpah" as my people say. Going to text you privately. Stay safe, be careful, live large! xo
Awwwww! Thank you, love. You're one of the kindest people I've met. I've seen your generosity toward me and others, and I am impressed. :)
I love the word chutzpah. Maybe it's because my grandfather was a Ukrainian Jew. Or maybe it's just a good word. And I love it applied to me. ;0) And thank you soooooo much for saying that about my writing. Makes my heart smile.
To living large always!
PS. In case anyone else is reading this response, as I texted Nan, the bike theft was four years back, just as the pandemic was starting to affect policy in the United States. I replaced her a few weeks later with a Craigslist bike I've liked well enough and named Lil Bike Blue.
Your closing line, 'I have everything I need,' is incredibly powerful. It made me pause and reflect on my own definition of 'having.' In a society that often equates possessions with worth, your words are a radical departure. It begs the question: What does it truly mean to 'have'? Is it about material possessions, or something deeper? Your experience suggests that perhaps true 'having' comes from a place of inner strength and connection, rather than external accumulation.
Thank you, thank you for your reflections. I have a funny relationship with possessions. During periods of brick-and-mortar living, what I own has ballooned out. Then I'll jump back on the road and reduce--which can feel ridiculously difficult. Often when I'm stressed, it's accompanied by an, "I have too many things! What are all these things?" But then there are times when getting stuff makes me feel better. Like this one time. It was mid pandemic. The van and I had seen virtually no humans for weeks. There'd been a rodent issue and a refrigeration issue and a heat issue and a mosquito issue. And I went on an ordering spree--sent myself a few packages to an Amazon pickup box and a couple to general delivery at a post office. I ended up getting rousted by a couple of police officers in the town where I was waiting for general delivery because one package was late. It was a whole thing. Nevertheless, I arrived high in a forest a few days later with a van full of loot. Parked up and set my boxes in a pile outside the van. It's funny to remember how good it felt to open those packages.
But yes, as you point out, connection to self and others is a wonderful way to define having--one I try to get closer in touch with.
I appreciate you much, Alexander. :)
Thank you for sharing all of that. What a story. But also, what a great illustration of all of this. I’ve still been thinking about your article, as I have flirted with “minimalism” in the past but it never stuck. And so the idea of “having” is still interesting. Because there are some things that I have and that I buy for myself that create profound joy.
Thank you, Holly, for so often leaving us in a better place than where you found us.
Awwww. What a lovely response. Had half a mind to leave it off at the first ending--not so much because of my feelings about the bike but, rather, about the precipice I fear we're on over here in the United States. But I do believe hope and contentment is almost always a better place to leave off.
I love what you say. The spirit that comes through in your glorious writing is a beautiful balance between those two endings. I get what you say about the precipice. But I think that even if things head that way, you will still dazzle us from your tightrope above the roaring waters.
From your mouth to … my actions 😆
In all seriousness, thank you, Jeffrey. You have a calming presence that comes through in your writing and in your engagement with other writers. And I’m grateful for it.
So very sorry about your bike, but I am glad you are safe. That mask is amazing. I think about this line often, with different words slotted in for the final one. “And is there no camaraderie among the downtrodden?” Kintsugi is such a wonderful metaphor to hold and ponder.
Thanks, Amy. Right?! I love that mask. And yes, kintsugi is one of my favorite metaphors.
There's this artist, Paige Bradley, whose sculpture "Expansion" is based on kintsugi. The piece has long been close to my heart. I reached out to her and got permission to use a photo of it in a post of mine-- https://hollystarley.substack.com/p/5x5-a-lamb-for-a-backpack-ford-starley-1
Even if your daughter draws you in pursuit, masked with drawn sword, you have already drawn the portrait with your words. Your stories flash by in brilliant imagery. "I have everything I need" are powerful words of gratitude. Take good care, Holly.
Thank you, Leslie. I so very much appreciate you reading and sharing. "I have everything I need" is at once so simple and so complex. Maybe that's where its power comes from.
If inanimate objects carry ghosts, or something of the spirit of previous owners, imagine yours flying along with the thief, or the person they sold it to. How you are investing something of yourself in this stranger, challenging them to to change, to become better. To learn how to live with the beauty of your final line. A really beautiful (and scary) story, thanks for sharing. I just finished reading "When the World Tips Over" by Jandy Nelson, and two of her characters live out of an RV called Sadie (and her replacement Purple Rain). Synchronicity. I read that book then found you. Keep safe. Keep grateful (which will keep you safe).
I so love the idea of something of the spirit of adventure and the joy of simplicity I shared with that bike hanging out with whoever used her (and I hope loved her) next.
I'm so glad you found me and so appreciate you commenting and sharing the essay! And thank you for the book recc. Will check out "When the World Tips Over." I can't resist characters living in RVs. :) And you're right; gratitude keeps you safe and, I think, free.
"She catches her breath. “You’re such a badass.”
I am such a quiet person by nature, not introvert or shy but I avoid a fuss and conflicts but if someone stole my beloved bike.... oh boy! So Yup, I'd have been that same badass Holly, I wouldn't have been able to help myself. And then after realising the futility of the anger...
"A line of gold mixes with lacquer; two fragments join. Take whatever you want, I think. I have everything I need" I love love love this.... yes!!!
Thanks, Susie!
Ah that righteous anger, futile though it may be, can spur you into mad feats indeed. I sometimes wonder if a part of me, knowing the danger of confrontation, held me back until it was too late for anything but a plea from a distance.
Thanks every so much for reading and sharing.
Ugh the plaintive plea "Please...I love that bike." That was what you were armed with as you gave chase - sincerity. 🥲 But what was old bike's name? We've always named our cars (Otto von Dart was a fave) but we are currently an empty nest of vehicles. 💜
Armed with sincerity. Ha! That’s sort of my typical armor in truth.
Otto von Dart! Love it. Ew an empty nest of vehicles. How lovely. Car-free times are lovely times.
That bike was called Bikey McBikerson II. Her predecessor, Bikey I, was also stolen. But I was much less attached. I adored Bikey II for all of the experiences we’d shared. She wasn’t even a super nice bike. I got her at a yard sale for $200 or so.
I remember you telling us this story way back when. I guess it always struck me that you ran after the theif imploring them to be better.
I just recently ran after a thief. Except I was yelling, cien dolares, dos cientos dólares. I really wanted my phone back because I knew it would be a pain to replace. This was the second phone I had stolen in South America.
The first time it was just a thing, something I could replace. But the second time it was about me being able to be me. That's what really got me, not the loss of the phone but the idea that I couldn't take it out in public anymore. I couldn't take pictures. I had a bit of a breakdown.
They steal more than things, they steal a bit of your freedom. I'm over it now and have a new phone. The new case I have has a card slot. I use the slot to attach a tether with the other end of the tether attached to my camera bag. If someone tries to take it again, they will take me with them.
Ha! That’s the perfect solution. Love it. You absolutely need to be able to take pictures.
I’m so sorry you’re phone got taken AGAIN! That totally blows.
I did not think of offering the thief money to leave the bike behind. But I’m fairly sure nothing I might have said would have changed the outcome of that early morn.
Of course, offering money didn't change the outcome either, but I love that you thought you could appeal to the thief's better side. That is what has always stood out to me about your story - that you didn't necessarily see the theif as a bad person.
I don't really see anyone as a bad person. Which is maybe to my detriment sometimes. But I wouldn't change it if I could.
The tension between owning something and being liberated from it is so real. Of course, none of us would choose to be robbed, but there's something freeing about giving up a thing you thought you needed. Beautifully written, as always.
Exactly! You said this beautifully, Katharine. That tension is indeed present in this piece and the way I've processed the loss of the bike and other things that have found their way out of my life by various routes, not just the disembodied hand of a thief.
Thank you for being here.
Love that last line, it's such good reframing for what was clearly a pretty shitty situation. There's a good lesson in there for us all 😊
Thank you, Sophie! I think reframing is one of the best things we can do for ourselves. Not in a sugar coating or ignoring the shite way. I mean, we have to feel the feels and be pissed when things go wrong first.
I appreciate you!!
Where to start? Such gorgeous writing. And dang-you rolling desk women are so flipping brave! I’m awed.
But please don’t chase after night thieves ever again.
Thank you. 🥰
And yeah, I likely won’t. Hehe. No really. I did realize quite quickly that I was not making the wisest choice.
Love this, Holly. Such a badass! And from a daughter. The best.
Right? I melted.
Thank you, Kelly. 🥰
Must be in the air; just got the same from a daughter who read my Oldster interview. Hands down, I can get through another six months on that. 🫶🏻
Yasssss! Yay for daughters. That Oldster interview was, indeed, badass!!
Thanks. Love your voice. I’m a bike rider too. I’d be so pissed.
You are amazing Holly, a real warrior in my eyes. Thanks for another brilliant story!
Dahhhh! Thank you, Jan. I so appreciate you.
Beautiful Holly.
Thank you, Sue. 🥰
This is a gorgeous reflection…and I’m sorry about your bike.
Thank you, thank you, Mary. 🥰
And me too. I hope she ended up with someone who loved her for awhile longer.