Over 40 years ago, I bought a motorcycle. I got no training. Never got a license. I rode around Hawaii on what was then a high-performance machine in shorts, sandals, and sunglasses.
Madness.
When I moved to San Francisco, I sold the bike. It’s a small miracle that I’m here to tell that story.
Many years later, I became interested in motorcycles again. This time, I went about it very differently. I got a license. I took a lot of classes. I read books. I practiced in parking lots. I rode on a track. I even got certified to teach.
I figured that if I was going to do something so inherently dangerous, and it is, I should do everything I could to improve my odds. Even then, luck, chance, and randomness always lurk to defeat training, preparation, and full leathers.
One night, I found myself riding back from a class. I was miles from home, crossing the Cascades in the dark, cold, and rain.
“What am I doing here?”
“Tell me again why this is fun?”
I got home and decided it was time to stop. I didn’t even try to analyze why. Call it a feeling.
My wife, bless her, said, “If you’re done, be done. Don’t go on some last ride. That never goes well.”
Mastery requires training, preparation, and concentration. Stop when your heart and head are no longer in the game.
When you’re done, be done.