Dionysus on a Bike

by Justin Marquis

These words of Nietzsche reverberate around in my head, words he spoke as he convalesced from a long illness. “How could I not be grateful for my whole life?” because that is what I feel, immense gratitude for where I am, for who I am, and where I’ve been, the experiences that have shaped me, the memories of adventures, joys, and lonely suffering, and the promise of where I am heading. How could I not be grateful for my whole life?

These words written by the same philosopher who wrote that God is dead remind me that gratitude has not always been easy, but it has been ever-present in my life. It’s not so much that the fates have been kind to me but rather that I love life, and loving life I love all that has made my life, this life possible, full of grace and promise.

It’s tempting to say that so much has changed recently and that my life is at a turning point, but that hides the fact that all of life is constant change, this time no more so than others, and yet in the journey that is my life, this time stands out as a kind of inflection point where gratitude knows what it is grateful for. My gratitude knows the way that each event has made what I am grateful for possible. The entire course of my life has never more clearly shown itself to be a gateway to this very moment, allowing me to inhabit that moment and experience it fully.

Words of affirmation have never come easily to me. My tendency is to be critical and look for what can be overthrown and changed for the good, whether that be the good of my own life, the good of others, or the Good in general. It is difficult for me to give words to my gratitude and name that to which I am grateful. To name something and to give words for it is to make it fragile, ephemeral, as if to speak something, especially something affirming, is to contribute to its evaporation and participate in its eventual disappearance and absence.

It is especially difficult to name one’s gratitude when the things for which I am grateful are less than concrete. Yes, I am thankful for my family and my upbringing, for my friends and my companion, for the opportunities I’ve been given and the education I’ve received both formal and informal. But it isn’t for those things or even for the beauty of the earth and nature that I am especially grateful. No, what I am grateful for are eyes capable of seeing what is good, both the good to be aimed at and the good that is already here enveloping my life, eyes to see where grace and healing, beauty and truth are found. These eyes have taken a lifetime to develop and would not have developed without all of the good, the bad, the significant, and the mundane. If one iota of my life had been different, my eyes would be different as well. And so I affirm all of my life, all of life itself, for this gift of sight.

What do I see with these new eyes? I do not only see good, and most of the time, I see that which kills, maims, and negates life. I see a world full of exploitation and oppression. I see people slaving their lives away for a mere survival or just a hint of security and instead they are given suffering through injustice. How is it that I can be grateful for my whole life when this is what I see? There are no easy answers here, and I understand the tendency to curse the earth or God or humankind or whatever causal nexus is responsible for all that harm and pain and hopelessness. Platitudes do no good here, and we gain nothing by not admitting that existence is unjust and some people, through no special fault of their own, never get a taste of anything that they might call a good life.

And yet, gratitude washes over me. How could I not be thankful for my whole life?

I mentioned that in the midst of ever-changing life, this time especially is an inflection point for me. Many circumstances right now in my life demand a change. I am placed in a position where I have to make choices in such a way that staying the course is impossible.

The apartment I share with my companion is becoming unlivable. The caprice of uncaring capitalism and nameless landlords mean that needed maintenance on the apartment we share is not being done and because of this, it is filled with mold we cannot control. I find new meaning in the term “slumlord.” For the sake of our health, living here is no longer an option. Also, my life currently consists of juggling two part-time jobs while maintaining a bicycle business of my own. Even with all that constant work, we will never afford to buy our own home in Chicago and will probably be forced to move every half decade or so as neighborhoods price us out through the familiar processes of gentrification.

The road calls me, and it calls my companion too. When our lease is up in May, we plan on taking our possessions and cats to my parents and set off on a long, long bicycle journey that will take many, many months. We will carry a tent, some clothing, a few things we need, and live in the spaces between cities as we journey across this broken, beautiful land. We will sleep in campgrounds, on river banks, in strangers’ beds, in churchyards, bike co-ops, squats, and the homes of friends and family. We will see this North American continent from the saddle of bike and take pleasure in those experiences and hopefully learn from them. We hope to see beauty, meet people, and have time for meditation, reflection, reading, and creative expression.

This blog will be a record of that journey and much that surrounds that journey.

How could I not be grateful for my whole life? This bicycle journey we are embarking on, just over six months from now is not an isolated or discrete event. This journey is for me an integral part of living a whole life. In addition to recording the events and experiences of our bicycle journey, I will risk the fragility of the Good and attempt to name that to which I am grateful. It will be halting and always with the proviso of fallibility. I desire to share what these eyes have been given the ability to see. And finally, I want to think through where this journey is headed, meditate on both what these eyes see and toward what this body can do, to what I am called to do.

How could I not be grateful for my whole life? The earth is incomparably beautiful, and the pleasures of that beauty overwhelm me. At the same time, there is a great well of suffering and hopelessness that we see all around us, alienation, war, misunderstanding, separation, hunger. Resisting platitudes and easy answers, I hope to give expression to how we might live better and to how I might find meaning in all of these contradictions, all while aiming to see a new world built on the ashes of the old world which is passing away. Dare I name my hope? Dare I name my goals, my hopes, my vision of beauty and truth and the Good? Dare I take these steps out into the unknown, a bicycle journey long enough that it will feel endless and then what I am called to afterward? Fate calls me. I can do no other.

I hope you’ll read with me as I continue.