The Things You Never Get Around To
At various points in your life, you will realize there are things you don’t know how to do that you probably could learn if you actually took the time to do it.
It’s not that they’re essential things. Your life doesn’t depend on them. It’s just because they’re there, sitting in the background as something you’ve never gotten around to closing the loop on. Those things have a way of nagging at you.
For me, learning to ride a motorcycle was one of those things. Something I put off for most of my life.
Understanding vs Doing
I’ve always been someone who believes that if I put in the time and effort, I can learn how to do just about anything. Not to a professional level, not perfectly, but well enough to be competent. Enough to satisfy my own drive to be knowledgeable. And over time, that kind of capability compounds. It makes you more useful. It saves you money. It gives you options in situations where other people are stuck.
I like to think of these types of things as just another tool in the toolbox.
But there’s a difference between understanding the concepts of something and actually being able to do it, and I’ve never been comfortable sitting in that middle ground.
The First Time It Showed Up
When I was 17, my parents leased my first car, but to make the payment work, my dad insisted it had to be a manual transmission. At the time, it felt like a hassle. I had to take the time to learn something complicated and be completely proficient in it for my safety and the safety of other people on the road. I was a kid, and all I wanted to do was get behind the wheel and hang out with my friends.
Years later, I’m landing in Europe, skipping the expensive automatic rentals the agencies only have on hand for Americans who don’t know how to drive stick, and realizing that one decision paid off in a way I never would have predicted at the time. That’s how skills work. You learn them once, and they quietly return value whenever the situation calls for it. They pay dividends for the rest of your life.
Motorcycles lived in that same category for me.
I understood how they worked. I knew what the controls did. I could explain it to someone else. But I couldn’t actually ride one, and that always felt like incomplete knowledge.
Just Enough to Prove a Point
When I was in a band in college, our singer surprised us one night by showing up to practice on a motorcycle. No license, completely illegal, but that didn’t seem to bother him. I asked if I could sit on it, mostly out of curiosity.
He laughed and told me I probably wouldn’t even be able to start it, and even if I did, I definitely wouldn’t be able to get it moving.
I started it immediately, dropped it into first, and started rolling without stalling. He had to run me down and shut the engine off before I got myself into real trouble.
It was just enough to prove a point, but not enough to mean anything.
I still didn’t actually know how to ride.
Closing the Loop
Years later, during lockdown, I finally decided to do something about it. Not because it was urgent, and not because I needed it for anything specific. Like everyone else, I had a ton of time on my hands, and I was looking for things to do. It felt like one of those things that didn’t need to stay unresolved.
I found a Basic Riders Course about fifteen minutes from my house. One weekend, one fee, and if you passed the tests, you walked away with your motorcycle endorsement.
It was simple enough that there was really no reason not to do it, so I registered for a fall class when it wouldn’t be too hot to be out on the tarmac for two full days.
Being a Beginner Again
Walking into the class, I had zero real experience. Some of the other people there had ridden dirt bikes before, and you could see the difference immediately. They had instincts I didn’t have yet, but they also had habits they needed to unlearn.
I didn’t have either, which put me in this weird middle ground of being completely new but also completely open.
It was both nerve-racking and exhilarating in a way that’s hard to explain if you haven’t done it. You’re sitting on a machine that will absolutely punish you if you get careless, and there’s no barrier whatsoever between you and very real consequences. You feel exposed in a way that forces you to pay attention.
At one point, I dropped the bike mid-turn. Wrong brake, wrong moment, and it was gone before I even understood what happened. I didn’t go down with it. I was still on my feet, straddling the bike as it lay on its side. It happened in a blink.
That’s how you learn. It’s part of the process.
You don’t get to fake your way through something like that.
And you certainly don’t forget it.
What Actually Changed
By the end of the weekend, I had my endorsement.
More importantly, I had proof that I could take something I had never done before, process it, and get to a point where I could actually execute it.
Not perfectly. Not confident enough to take it out on the Jersey Turnpike.
But competently enough to know the foundation was there, and certainly enough to cruise around town.
The Part That Confuses People
And then… I didn’t buy a motorcycle.
If the goal were to become a rider, then sure, it would look like I stopped halfway. But that was never really the goal.
I don’t ride motorcycles. But I know I can.
I know for a fact that right now, I could get on a motorcycle, start it, and operate it safely. Sure, it might take a few minutes to find the sweet spot where the clutch grabs a gear. I would need time to acclimate to how strong the brakes are.
After that, I’d be fine… and that makes all the difference. Before, riding a motorcycle wasn’t an option. And now it is.
I know I could go buy one tomorrow. I live across the street from a massive parking lot where I could spend hours getting comfortable again. If I wanted a refresher, the motorcycle school is still right there, fifteen minutes away.
I have options. I have a plan.
Riding a motorcycle isn’t a part of my lifestyle. Nor is it a part of my identity in any outward sense.
It’s just my capability. It’s part of my skillset.
The Gaps You Leave Alone
There’s a big difference between something being impossible and something you’ve just never taken the time to learn.
Most people blur that line without realizing it.
They say they can’t do something when what they really mean is they’ve never tried, or they tried once and decided it wasn’t for them. Nothing happens if you leave those gaps alone.
Your life doesn’t fall apart. You don’t lose anything immediately.
You just stay exactly where you are, and sometimes that’s perfectly ok. Particularly if you’re living your life with a sense of fulfillment.
But if you’re not… if you feel like there’s room to learn something more… it’s worth looking at one of those things and asking whether it actually needs to stay that way or if it’s time to take the leap and do something about it.
Because not every skill needs to be used every day to be worth learning.
Sometimes it’s enough to know you closed the gap.