December Nights

One night a few years ago, deep into December, I rode my bike home from work. It was cold, and it was around 6pm so it was pitch dark. My cheeks and thighs were tingling, but they didn’t feel cold -- mostly just numb -- and the rest of my body was warm from my heavy layers and blood flow from the exercise. 

My job that winter had been rough.  I wasn’t doing what I particularly enjoyed, and a bully coworker made it significantly worse. I’d thought many times of quitting, but I’d made a commitment and I wanted to see it through. So, every day, I rode my bike to and from work; 10am to 6pm.

First my commute was in the warmth of summer, when the job was still decent. As fall, and then winter moved in, my bike commute became colder and dark. My coworker started lashing out at me more and my job progressively became unbearable. 

I started spending more time hiding in my office, crying and dreading having to see this person who was supposed to be my equal. I loathed the idea of having to go to work, and in turn, I started hating my bike commute as well. 

This particular night in late December though, I rode my bike home after work in the crisp cold air. Riding under the winter stars, I wasn’t thinking about my doubts or fears, my regrets or trepidation. I was just smelling the snow in the air and the smoke coming from chimneys. I was feeling the quiet and the peace and enjoying the lack of traffic and people.

I pedaled the two miles north home, and when I was about three blocks from my house, deep in thought about what I should do with my job and my coworker, I looked into the sky and my eyes locked with the full moon. The site of it took more wind out of me than the frigid air in my lungs.  I stopped pedaling and coasted as much as I could the remaining few blocks so that I could just look at it. 

Seeing the full moon on that cold December night made me feel strangely and suddenly happy about everything. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for what I had, where my life was, and the unknown of the future. I knew that I needed to hang on to that moment. I had a sensation that seeing the full moon on my bike ride home was going to be my anchor in the next coming months; to be reminded of what I had, where I was going, and to appreciate the dark unknowns of the cold December nights.