Bikers' Bookshelf

I was 52-years-old; I was facing an empty nest, an empty occupation, an empty bank account, a quantifiably empty, love life, and a bankrupt ideology of what comprised my purpose in life. If Maslow’s Theory was correct, I was still a long way from the Pinnacle of his triangular reference of Life Stages – Self Actualization. I was soul sick; I was left wondering, “”Is this all there is?”” I arrived at this point in my journey and realized I was again alone on the Life Road, and my role as Super Mom was coming to a close. For most of my life I had been cast in the role of Someone’s Daughter, Someone’s Wife, Someone’s Mom, Someone’s Lover; my psyche was howling for a new role in life I could call my own, my soul was screaming to be nurtured.

On a sweltering day in July of ’07, I didn’t realize it then, but my declaration of “”I’m Gettin’ My Own,”” as I climbed off the back of yet another man’s motorcycle for the last time, would be a metaphor for ‘life’ as well. Not only would I get my own motorcycle, in the process, I excavated my own life from the dismal heap of circumstances that surrounded me.