i wanted to take a moment away from the usual format of spokes blogs—recapping the day—to talk about the experience of this trip from the perspective of mental health. as much as i’ve enjoyed seeing the country, meeting new people, getting closer to my six teammates, biking, teaching, and all the other beautiful parts of spokes, parts of this trip have been really challenging.
before i started, i thought the challenges would be largely physical: i hadn’t biked more than 15 miles before starting, and i was really scared of the 100+ mile days on our agenda. those days have been hard, but the physical strain pales in comparison to the stress and anxiety i’ve felt some days of this trip.
here’s my best attempt to convey what that’s been like (for me—not necessarily others on the team).
sleeping in a different place every night has changed my sense of self. at Stanford (and every time before that), i’ve been fortunate to always have a space that i can fill with my belongings. my dorm room is full of pictures of friends, stuffed unicorns that people bought me as gifts, and paintings that people made for me. those things are small, but important for keeping myself grounded and reminding me of my communities and loved ones.
during this trip, my entire life has been reduced to a few bags that i unpack every night, repack every morning, and then shove into our overstuffed car (a.k.a. “Ody”; pronounced oh-dee). Ody is a dangerous creature with a habit for swallowing items that are carelessly placed; many of my belongings have vanished into its nooks and crannies. it’s become really hard to keep personal objects—they’re either too hard to bring with me or i’m worried they’ll get damaged in the car.
beyond belongings, moving around is challenging for safety. when i’m stationary, i learn about the norms and values of the place i’m living, and existing there often becomes easier. on this trip, we’ve met so many different people with vastly different worldviews—folks who think the catholic church is evil, people who think the 2020 election was stolen, and many who have been openly racist and transphobic. my radar is constantly active, trying to get a quick read on everyone we meet, and i’m constantly worried that the members of this team (five of whom are POC; three of whom are women) will have to endure microaggressions (or worse). even when we don’t, it’s exhausting being constantly attuned.
somehow, i’m always busy. when i read blog posts from previous years i’m shocked at how much time those folks had. we wake up early in the morning and do chores continuously until we roll out. then, once we arrive, we prepare dinner and go to bed. even rest days are occupied with trips to bike shops or to get supplies for teaching. i don’t think i’ve ever been this busy with a single activity in my life.
the all-encompassing nature of spokes can make it hard to take breaks. i’m so conditioned to working on spokes, it sometimes guilty to check out or spend time with myself. it’s also hard to remember parts of my identity outside of spokes—i haven’t written a line of computer code, made a piece of art, or been on a leisurely walk since starting the trip—all things that i regularly do at Stanford. and, as i’m writing this, i have unread texts from 15 different people and unread emails from 6 different people (sorry!).
staying in high schools brings back memories. we’ve stayed at two high schools now, and each of those experiences has been surreal for me. i’m convinced every high school has the same smell (a sort of pleasant… funk), the same poorly-rhyming fight songs, the same brand of calculators, the same waxy floors, etc. etc.
when we stay in high schools, i often wander the halls, visiting places i frequented at my own high school: the debate room, the auditorium, the chemistry classroom. last night after midnight, i sat on a chair in the middle of the stage in an empty auditorium, recording voice notes to friends—i certainly have a flair for the theatrical.
the thing is, my memories of high school are not always pleasant. for every time i remember a friend that introduced me to a new book as i walk past the library, i also remember the fear and exhaustion of pushing myself too hard to finish an assignment as i walk by the history classroom.
the architecture of high school is so unique in the way it moves, organizes, and polices its students. stepping into it as a guest, free to move without fearing being flagged for not having a hall pass, has made me reflective on how that architecture shaped my own high school experience and, by extension, personality.
my emotions are cyclically linked with my teammates, which can make for high highs and low lows. we spend so much time around each other that we’ve come to know each other really well (in some ways). i can tell when others aren’t doing well and if they aren’t, it sucks!
to me, part of this seems a little like enmeshment, but it’s also practical: it is much harder to have a good time with the team if everyone is going through it; and, it’s hard to feel sad when everyone is doing really well.
at times, this feels cyclical: one person is having a bad time, then others start having a bad time, until eventually, nobody is feeling great. that’s a more rare experience, but it’s happened from time-to-time.
at the end of this, i’m really tempted to write something like: “but, it’s all ok because i have my team and we love and care for each other.”
that’s true, of course. but i also think it’s a bit minimizing. i think it’d give in to my temptation to balance the negatives with something positive.
holding both—the joy and anxiety that i get from this activity—is the complexity of the spokes experience.
—parth