Leaning Into the Curve

There is a particular moment when riding a motorcycle that I have always found strangely beautiful.

You approach a curve.

You know you have to lean.

And yet, somewhere inside you, there is a small instinct telling you not to.

The road is turning away from you. The motorcycle is beginning to tilt. And for a moment, it can feel as if the safest thing would be to straighten up.

But if you do, you may actually make the turn more difficult.

The only way through is to trust the movement.

To look where you want to go.

To lean into the curve.

I’ve been thinking about that lately — not so much in relation to riding, but to life.

There are moments when life becomes difficult and uncertain.

Things don’t turn out the way we expected.

Something changes. Something disappears. We lose our sense of direction.

And in those moments, I think we can become disconnected from a quieter form of attention inside ourselves.

We start looking for answers outside.

What should I do?

What would other people do?

What is the sensible thing?

What will make this easier?

And sometimes, of course, those questions are necessary.

But there is another question I think we forget to ask:

What do I actually notice?

Not what should I feel.

Not what would make the situation easier.

Not what other people expect of me.

But what is my own attention telling me?

There is a difference between following an impulse and listening deeply.

The latter takes practice.

It requires us to become quiet enough to notice what is happening underneath all the noise.

And perhaps that is where the motorcycle becomes more than a metaphor.

When you enter a curve, you cannot control everything.

You don’t know exactly what will happen.

You have to trust your experience, your senses and your ability to respond.

You lean.

And then you keep going.

Maybe difficult moments in life are sometimes like that.

We don’t get through them by eliminating uncertainty.

We get through them by staying attentive enough to move with what is actually happening.

By trusting something inside us without pretending that we know exactly where the road will lead.

There is courage in that.

Not the courage of knowing what comes next.

The quieter courage of leaning into the curve anyway.

And perhaps that is what being true to your inner attention means.

Not always knowing the answer.

But being willing to listen closely enough to recognise your own direction.

And then, when the road turns,

lean.

I recently made a YouTube video about it. Check it out here.