Harley and Me

by Bernadette Murphy

  For some people, creating rituals before and/or after difficult activities can help. My son, when dealing with a severe anxiety disorder in high school, would reward himself with Skittles for making it through each class. I sometimes light a candle before sitting down to write a difficult passage. We may laugh at such superstitions, but they often work.

  Finally, it’s helpful to keep in mind that the stress I’m experiencing is an adaptive response. We experience these physiological changes because they’re intended to increase our strength, focus, and drive, giving us the energy we need to succeed. If I’m anxious, I can concentrate on how the stress response is going to help. It focuses me, energizes me, keeps me on my toes.

  Brian Rigby, the author of the climbing magazine article, cites his own experience as a rock-climber. Over time, as his level of anxiousness eased, he says he rarely gets stressed. He is also able to see when his ego is pushing him to do something he’s not ready to do, or when peer pressure nudges him beyond his skill level. He reminds himself that the experience is not about the outcome of a climb and that failure just means he’s pushing his limits and learning new things. “I am still in a battle with my ego which drives me to perfection, but the good thing is that now I have tools to work with my inner chatter,” which means that he’s able to focus on progression instead of perfection.

  Though I was not so thrilled about falling at Point Dume on the beach, as I climb now on the ice in Ouray and find my rhythm, I discover reasons to be grateful for that experience. I know that if I fall, my belay partner will catch me. I know that if I ride my motorcycle five thousand miles across the country and back, the road will bring me home. If I paddle an outrigger canoe across the Sea of the Moon, scuba-dive off a remote Pacific atoll, or leave the security of marriage, I will land on my feet. If I try to build a relationship with a new man, not knowing how or if things are going to work out, I believe I can recover from whatever heartbreak might be in store. And I can open my heart to whatever joy might be lurking in the possibility of couplehood. I need never again stay in an unhappy relationship simply because I’m too afraid to strike out on my own.

  As a result of these passages, I have come to envision the entire universe as a benevolent system that has me in a kind of climbing harness and continues to tether me on a safety line. I can make poor choices, reaching too far, not getting my crampon in deep enough, misjudging the ice’s stability. Yet I know that the harness is there and the rope will catch me.

  I consider all the tough lessons that have made this fact evident to me. I add them up. The still-unfolding divorce, the death of my father, the suicide of my friend’s teenage son just days before little Ronan died from Tay-Sachs, the car accident with the ninety-one-year-old man, the tears I’ve shared with my children as we’ve navigated a new family structure. And before those challenges, there was the mental illness and then death of my mother, a teen pregnancy, my son’s near drowning, J’s pulmonary embolism that almost killed him, the foreclosure that cost us our house, my son’s anxiety disorder.

  The list goes on. Because this is life. We’re here to learn and expand and grow. The only way that happens is when life challenges us. Unlike what many of us think, life isn’t about finding a safe place, getting all our details nailed down, and then holding it all, like a tableau stuck in time.

  It’s about chance and risk and failing better.

  And yet, for the first time, I finally feel the tug of the rope that keeps me anchored, the sense that some kind of higher power, some God, the universe, whatever you want to call it, some compassionate and generous force is belaying me, keeping an eye, and is there to catch me when—not if—I fall. And that allows me to fly.

  •EPILOGUE•

  Security is mostly a superstition. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

  —HELEN KELLER

  Rebecca rides my motorcycle while I drive my car the thirty-six miles east of Los Angeles to Claremont to meet up with neuroeconomist Paul J. Zak. I’m driving so as not to “contaminate” my blood before he can take a baseline reading. He’s going to test my blood, before and after riding, for three hormones: oxytocin, testosterone, and ACTH (adrenocorticotropic hormone, a fast-acting stress hormone that’s a precursor to cortisol).

  I follow Rebecca eastbound on the Foothill Freeway and get a chance to admire my elegant dame, Izzy Bella. As she moves poetically through traffic, I realize I am not the same person I was three years ago when I first cautiously lowered my weight onto a motorcycle. I approach life with a new kind of zest and enthusiasm. I feel emotions more keenly than before, even the tender and excruciating ones. According to researchers at Stanford University, the human body replaces itself with a largely new set of cells every seven to ten years, and some of our most important parts are revamped even more rapidly. Whether it’s replenishing lung cells, shedding skin, or sprouting new hair, the human body is in a state of constant flux and change.

  If my recent experiences are any indication, my psyche is going through a rejuvenation, too.

  Change of some sort would have been inevitable. The fact that I have transformed in ways that please and make me feel more whole as a human, though, is due unequivocally to this grand venture into risk taking.

  Risk, as a concept, has a hard time of it in our thoroughly preplanned society. Yet taking risks is central to who we are as humans. If you’re like me, though, you may have bought into the philosophy that settling your life and planning to the utmost what your future holds is what we should strive for. Most regard this as the ultimate badge that we are grown-ups.

  It’s time to reconsider that myth.

  • • •

  When I meet Zak, the first thing he does is apologize for not hugging me. He’s a well-known hugging advocate and claims he can prove that embracing a person for twenty seconds can increase oxytocin levels and make both parties feel better and more predisposed to trust. Since we don’t want to spike my oxytocin level, then, no hugs until the blood work is done.

  He sends me into a quiet room where I sit alone for ten minutes. This is to “quarantine” me from any social interaction I might have with Zak, Rebecca, or Zak’s research assistant that could influence the results. He then takes the “before” blood sample and sends me out into the parking lot to ride my motorcycle for about twenty minutes.

  I ride along a portion of historic Route 66. Compared to Los Angeles traffic, it’s a quiet stretch of road along the foothills, and as I zip along, I enjoy the scented oils from the eucalyptus trees and a feeling of being in command of my bike. I encounter only a few cars and the ride passes without incident.

  When I return to the little Craftsman house that’s been converted into the Center for Neuroeconomic Studies, Zak takes another blood specimen. Before we say good-bye, he feels it’s okay to indulge a big bear hug.

  • • •

  Months pass and the results finally come in. According to Zak, they make an amazing amount of sense.

  My oxytocin level is up 18 percent after riding the bike. I remember from Zak’s book that he took blood samples before and after the vows at a wedding. While my oxytocin didn’t elevate quite as high as the bride or the bride’s mother, I’m on par with the groom. Either way, it’s a sizable increase.

  ACTH, the fast-acting stress hormone, is up only 8.3 percent, which means I’m a very relaxed rider. Zak is amazed I had such a nominal increase while on the bike. He’d expected to see a 30 to 50 percent increase from such a focused, strenuous activity. “This is evidence that you are ‘one with the bike,’” he says, “like it’s an extension of your body and you feel natural using it.”

  The testosterone numbers are equally interesting. My pre-ride test established a baseline of 18.5 nanograms per deciliter (ng/dl), what would be expected in the midrange for women my age. But after riding the motorcycle, my testosterone actually dipped to 15 ng/dl. We are both surprised.

  “Why did it fall?” he asks rhetorically. “We know you weren’t stressed, whi
ch can reduce testosterone levels.” He thinks that one possible interpretation is that I was so relaxed that I didn’t need to show off or preen.

  So, I ask him, what’s the major takeaway?

  “As you hypothesized, it seems like riding your cycle is a social activity from the brain’s perspective. We don’t know about others, but for you, for that particular ride, your brain was receiving positive social information from those around you, which is the only way your brain makes oxytocin, other than birth, breastfeeding, or sex—all of which I’m pretty sure you didn’t do during your ride!”

  “But wait,” I interrupt. That doesn’t seem right. I didn’t feel social or aware of other people on the ride at all. I bring up the hypothesis we’d discussed a year earlier, about the moving shapes in the You-Tube video and having a relationship with the bike. Does he think that theory no longer holds?

  “Did I really say that?” he laughs. “It’s either brilliant or stupid, I’m not sure which.” He’s going to have to think about it.

  If that’s not the reason, I speculate, maybe my level jumped because I’m having a relationship with myself. Maybe oxytocin increases when one is authentic and present with one’s self.

  While that’s a supposition he’s heard before, Zak says it’s difficult to test experimentally. Scientists in the last twelve to fifteen years have seen that the only way to cause the brain to make oxytocin is to have a positive social interaction, something that requires the participation of others.

  Still, it’s possible, he says. “We can’t rule it out.”

  He’s quiet for a bit. I can almost hear the gears turning in his mind. “What I said last year, about the moving shapes? It sounds sort of smart.” His voice begins to rise as he puts the pieces together. “If it’s the relationship with the bike, it makes total sense. You’re relaxed. Your stress level’s dropped. The drop in testosterone is small, but yes, you’re one with this machine. It’s as if you’re having a relationship with it, a bonding experience.”

  All the markers are there, he tells me. It’s like you are sitting on the couch holding hands and watching TV with this machine.

  The human brain, he tells me, is in a very real sense, a lazy organ. It gives us systems meant for one purpose that can be used for others. We evolved this oxytocin-based care and nurturing system to raise our young. But it also manifests with animals in that pained feeling we get when we see a bird fall out of its nest, or the way we feel calmed when we pet a cat or play with a dog. There’s no reason this same brain system couldn’t develop a relationship with a dynamic machine that moves, takes us places, that we have experiences with.

  When the results first came in, I tell him, I posted them on my Facebook page. A number of people wrote to tell me how confirming the information was. One said he’d been trying for years to explain to people the feeling he gets while riding and no one got it.

  “Holy crap: That’s cool!” Now Zak’s really animated. “It gives us a little more confidence that’s the right interpretation.”

  He thinks it through out loud. “A motorcycle is moving and can create a very intimate experience. There it sits, between your legs, an intimate a part of you. It responds to your commands. And the motorcycle is more than just the bike itself. A rider is connected to a community of riders.”

  As such, he decides, it’s not inconceivable that a person might have a bonding (therefore oxytocin-spiking, dopamine-enriching) experience with a motorcycle.

  But there are caveats. We did this experiment on only one rider on one particular day. As the rider in question, I was aware of the results I was hoping to see. It’s far from a scientific trial that can prove anything, but it hints at an explanation. Despite the lack of methodical validity, it’s enough evidence for me.

  Oxytocin is an amazing molecule that helps humans in a multitude of positive ways: increasing generosity, putting us at ease, reducing social fears, decreasing pain, and acting as an antidepressant. Oxytocin naturally enhances a sense of optimism, trust, mastery, and self-esteem.

  But here’s the cool part: I get to create it in my own brain. Thanks to cooperative brain chemicals and the wonders of neuroplasticity, and thanks especially to my motorcycle, I have become a new person.

  But risk itself gets the true credit. Without the risk that got me on the bike in the first place, I would likely be deficient in oxytocin, in all kinds of positive brain chemicals, deficient in my full response to this life I’ve been graced with.

  Perhaps it’s time we redefine risk to include its upside. We know that risk is not just the possibility that something bad or unpleasant will happen, but the certainty that something new and unexpected will occur. Our brains and bodies are biochemically programmed to thrive on change. Challenge will open up and show us a new side of ourselves. If, as science has demonstrated, all the cells in our bodies are made new every seven to ten years, it make sense that our brains, our psyches, our self-images might undergo a similar transformation. In my own case, I feel like I’m almost halfway through that complete transformation.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like every challenging journey in life, writing a book takes the support and love of countless people. I am blessed in having many sources of light and love in my life.

  For teaching me about fearlessness and risk taking at the most core level, my three stellar children, Jarrod, Neil, and Hope, are unparalleled.

  I am grateful for all in my literary community who hold me close and keep me sane, especially Tara Ison, who has to convince me regularly to keep going; agent Bonnie Nadell, who keeps pointing me in the right direction; and editor Dan Smetanka, who helps me find home. Counterpoint Press was stellar in its support of this book. I especially thank publicist Megan Fishmann, copyeditor Mikayla Butchart, and publisher Rolph Blythe for their loving attention to my work. Literary sojourners who carried me on this path include Emily Rapp Black, Nina Revoyr, Felicia Luna Lemas, Charles Flowers, Rob Roberge, Jillian Lauren, Lynell George, Victoria Patterson, Gayle Brandeis, Christine Hale, Brad Kessler, Patrick O’Neil, Craig Clevinger, Rae Dubow, Patrick McGowan, Kitty Nard, and Edmond Stevens.

  Doctors Edward and Leah Schneider gave me a gorgeous above-a-garage abode when I needed it. Thank you for your hospitality and generosity.

  My brother Frank and his wife, Hinano, lured me to Mo’orea, French Polynesia, during the writing of this book, a gift I treasure greatly, while the staff of the UC Berkeley Gump Field Station and the Atitia Cultural Center on Mo’orea welcomed me with great hospitality on that beautiful island.

  Many friends held my hand when I felt shaky, including Joseph Argazzi, Tom Haskins, Brad Griffith, Juliana Jones-Munson, and all the folks at Hollywood and Gardner.

  I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to Emily Shokouh and everyone at Harley-Davidson of Glendale, in particular Oliver Shokouh, Ernie Snair, Maddeson Kline, Lee Hanes, Mario Vindeni, and Kiersten Cherry. Thanks to Edna and George Clingerman and Donna Kaminsky for riding to and around Milwaukee with me, and to Roger and Crystal Graves, Amy and Jim Anderson, and Sue and Russ Kahler, who gave me a place to stay as I traveled.

  I am grateful to the students, faculty, and administration of Antioch University Los Angeles for supporting my efforts and being a beacon of hope.

  And finally, for my father, who said I could be anything I wanted. I don’t think you had motorcyclist and divorcée in mind, but I hope this book might please you all the same.

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