Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Safety

For months now, I've been anticipating the Motorcycle Safety course that ended last night.

Every time I mention this to people, they crack up. Those who know me from America laugh at the "motorcycle" part. Those who know me from Cambodia laugh at the "safety course" part. "Shouldn't you just pay attention? There's not much you can learn - just expect everyone to suddenly dart in and out of your path all the time."

Regardless, it seemed like a reasonable way to learn. It's more complete and safer than learning from friends on the streets of Phnom Penh or even Doylestown. It assuages my parents' concerns for me. And in PA, it's free.

From a logical standpoint, I agreed 100% that I should take it. Emotionally, though, I despised the idea. I'm a very reluctant and hesitant learner when it comes to many mechanical and kinesthetic skills. I hated learning to drive, learning stick shift, probably even learning to ride a bike back in the day. I always want to KNOW it, but LEARNING is painful.

The first time we mounted the bikes, I was terrified. I didn't know the locations of *any* of the parts they quizzed us on: engine kill switch, choke, even ignition. The instructions were frighteningly quick and involved doing things with all those just-learned parts. But not following them meant certain humiliation and possible physical danger. Each new drill that night brought panic: I'd figured out the last one, but could I do this one?

Eventually, I calmed down and realized most of the exercises were within my ability, even if it took me more practices than others to get the hang of them. (Although there was one that I never really mastered, which appeared on the final exam.) But I think that sense of terror was good for me as a teacher.

School was easy for me. I'm comfortable in a classroom, taking tests, writing papers, even giving presentations. I forget how it feels for others. There are students in my classes who feel that same sense of dread and despair every time I assign something. Many have only attended an English-speaking school for a year or two. Maybe they read slowly, or struggle to interpret literature, or always have to search for words. Regardless, school can be a scary place.

This class has helped increase my empathy for them. Just before the final exam, I was certain I would fail. There were specific skills that I consistently missed during the practices. But my instructors kept patiently encouraging me, as they had throughout the class. I slowly brought my thoughts under control and prayed for focus and the grace of God. And, to my astonishment, I got the skills right and passed the exam! I'm hoping to be a safe motorcyclist this year, but also to be an empathetic encourager for students convinced they'll crash and burn.