We’re opening a new writing series: Reflections – Letters from the Ocean.
Here, Zelda shares moments from daily life – sometimes as I, sometimes as she, and sometimes with Amea - tracing how small experiences ripple into greater understanding.

Mountain Bike Riding

I’ve been mountain biking for about a year now. It’s been both thrilling and humbling. My partner is a lifetime cyclist – an endurance athlete who has spent years doing marathons, triathlons, Ironmans, mountain bike rides, and races.

After a long break, he decided to start again last year, and I wanted to join him. It was more than the sport or the movement itself. As an outdoor lover, I was deeply curious to explore it, but for both of us, it was also about adding to our relational well-being – to share in the experience and joy of being in nature, moving, being challenged, and doing something together that connects mind, body, heart, and soul. In a way, it was about sharing both the joy and challenge together :)

He’s been an incredible teacher, and remarkably patient with me. Though, as we often laugh, I didn’t exactly ease into it. I jumped straight into the deep end of the pool, or perhaps was gently (!) pushed, by him.

My very first ride included nearly 2,000 feet of elevation gain, over 15 miles, finished in slightly over two hours. What a ride.

Learning the Ride

Mountain bikes are quite different from road bikes –heavier, a lot heavier – which makes them harder to navigate for beginners. They are also more responsive to every move, and they demand physical and mental coordination, along with a set of skills I didn’t have. Yet.

By skills, I mean things like staying balanced on that heavy bike, steering the handlebars through narrow turns, learning to pick a line over rocks and roots, shifting gears quickly for steep climbs and sudden descents, powering through rough sections without losing momentum or rhythm.

Riding over deep sand is another challenge entirely – am I in the right gear, or do I go lower or higher? What’s happening here…am I even breathing anymore?

All those micro-adjustments look effortless from the outside – until you’re the one holding the handlebars. For the first time.

And don’t get me started on switchbacks. That’s still very much a work in progress, which is a reflection for another time – along with the question of why descending riders don’t always yield, so I end up stopping –well, not any more–;). And when that happens, how do I then get this heavy bike moving again on an uphill start?

Ah yes, this heavy bike – which I lovingly call my black horse on my activity app (and please, I love horses, no offense to anyone).

And…No, I’m not interested in e-bikes… yet.

Let’s move on.

The First Rides, the Mind and the Fear

That first ride was awkward and clumsy, but something about it was deeply satisfying. The mix of adrenaline on descents, the challenge of rough terrain, and the constant edge between courage and fear made me feel very alive. I had to stay fully present to ensure a safe ride – which, I think, is quite important for those of us with minds that go 200 miles per hour at times. And I loved it.

Sharing the experience with my partner made it even more meaningful, although I’m sure he was a bit tired of my cursing, complaining, and commentary along the way. For many rides for a while. I know I was. Unintended consequences of being thrown into the deep end of the pool :)

***That Steep Section***

On that trail, there’s a section I’ve struggled with from the very first time – a steep, rocky stretch with nearly 18% grade over 250 yards or more (or meters ). The first time, I had a hard time climbing it, and later, on our second ride when we took the opposite direction, I had an equally hard time descending. In both cases, I ended up walking my bike.

The First Ride Up

The first time I saw that section, I looked up, and thought: Holy shit, there’s no way I’ll be able to ride that.

Yet, I gave it a try - I love riding hills on the road - but that steep section, man…I had to stop, lacking both the power and the skills to navigate the rocky terrain. I sighed, tried to catch my breath, and watched my partner climb it while I was unable to speak from how fast my heart was racing (there’s even a video of that :).

Eventually, we made it to the top, and it was gorgeous. From there, it was all descent -until it was not. And descents are another story. For beginners, descents come with their own kind of thrill and terror.

My coping strategy, apparently, was to say “shit, shit, shit” at every corner – a stress-management mantra I didn’t know I had (and one that replaced my mindfulness mantra surprisingly fast). With the thrill and fear, at the times, I even told my partner “If something happens, please take care of the dogs”, lol.

The First Ride Down

A week later, on our second ride, we took the same trail in the opposite direction. The first time I saw that same section – this time reversed–, I stopped – this time looking down – and thought: Holy shit, there’s no way I’m riding that.

It was pure fear. The steepness triggered a familiar feeling – the same kind I used to feel years ago while rock climbing, where the mind starts imagining the fall before it even happens. So that the intrusive thoughts do not win, I walked my bike instead.

That being said, I did fall a couple of times on other sections – sort of like on this sticker a friend sent me after hearing the story :)

Back to That Steep Section

Each time after riding up or down that steep section, I’d tell myself: The day I ride this section comfortably, I’ll be proud of myself.

But let’s unpack that. Did you notice when I said, “Holy shit, I’m not going to be able to ride up or down”?

The power of the mind – and the subconscious mind.

I couldn’t get ahead of it fast enough.

On my first rides, I had already conditioned myself to believe that I couldn’t do it – in either direction – and that belief created long lasting tension in my body and a lingering fear that stayed with me for almost a year, until this past week.

And when I say “I”, by the way, I mean the will, the mind, the body, and the soul – all of it together with the seat and source of consciousness itself, which we’ll explore more deeply in upcoming reflections along the way.

The Aha Moment – Beginning This Reflection Piece

In recent months, I hadn’t been mountain biking as much – more time on the road bike, more time in additional projects. It had been about three months since I last rode that specific trail.

Initially, as my partner and I climbed to top – from the opposite direction of the steep section again – I found myself frustrated. My legs felt tired, the rocks felt relentless. Absolutely relentless after the last rain. I muttered, complained, cursed a little. More than a little. Maybe a lot – of “shit”s. Again.

We eventually reached the top, soaked up in the sun, enjoyed the view, and took couple of photos.

And then, a few moments later, as I reached that steep section and kept riding down, I realized something extraordinary: I wasn’t afraid.

The slope was the same. The rocks were still loose from the last rain. My body tensed slightly from the uneven ground, but the fear – that lingering, old fear – wasn’t there.

Only presence. Flow. Movement.

I even said out loud “I am not afraid!!”

Which then followed with “I am proud of myself!”

That split second – realizing the absence of fear, replaced only by slight discomfort from the loose rocks – was pure joy. Almost childlike joy – the kind that sneaks up on you, the kind you can’t force. And I did my best time going down the entire descent afterwards.

It wasn’t effortless, but it was free.

I was free – from my own mind.

The Reflections

That moment reminded me that progress doesn’t always come from pushing harder, especially in the same direction. Sometimes it happens quietly – while we pause, while we step away – intentionally or not.

Though the soul, I ponder has a way of making it look unintentional.

When our actions – even outside that one specific task – are aligned with joy, curiosity, meaning, purpose and the direction we are meant to go, then even when we step away (and perhaps especially when we step away) the deeper layers keep working. In an orchestrated way.

Such a design, indeed.

Pieces of the puzzle place themselves, instead of us trying to force them in.

(Some of you may be thinking – give it a break, all this after one ride down? Jeez.
Oh yes, welcome to the wonders of the deep oceanic mind here 🙂)

Beyond Biking

Then I reflected on how this isn’t just about biking.
It’s about all the places where growth lives: work, creativity, relationships, healing – to name a few.

When we pause, it doesn’t mean losing progress. It means allowing integration behind the scenes so that other pieces can catch up – whether we are aware of them or not –and catch up not only with where we were, but where we are meant to go.

Divine intervention? Divine design?

Whatever you’d like to call.

Being content with progress while approaching from different angles – in harmony and balance – instead of stretching the arrow in one direction alone.

Perhaps I was ahead of myself starting with that trail as my first trail ride, or perhaps not. But for sure my mind and body were not yet aligned in the task:

The mind said, “I am afraid.”

The body listened and tensed.

And I – all of the mind, body, soul, the will, the seat and source of consciousness ( perhaps the partial seat of the soul, by the way) – tried to navigate the direction but felt weaker when those parts were not in sync.

Yes, I was getting a little better each time – riding ten yards more before stopping. But it wasn’t until I had a few months of stepping away from that trail – instead of repeating the same trail with the same mentality–, that I was finally able to ride without fear. With caution, and the quiet happiness of being free from the mind’s fears.

That pause felt like a surrender – though an unintentional one in this case– where an integration of mind, body and soul was happening behind the scenes, preparing me for a new approach.

Connection to “Sleep is Surrender”

That quiet integration reminds me of what I shared in the “Breath & Sleep: Two Rhythms of Being” piece – how sleep is a form of surrender that allows deeper renewal.

Pauses in any area – such as exercise, social life, creative projects, even occupational tasks – work the same way when I think about it. They act like a short vacation for the part (or parts) of us assigned to the task.

It’s as if we step away – so that when we return, we no longer hold the same tension we built while doing it regularly. Just like a good night’s sleep dissolving the daily tensions accumulated through wakefulness.

The pause brings a fresh perspective –a new approach– one that releases the memory of strain, the memory of the fear, the memory of mundanity, the memory of the negativity, the memory of inadequacy, the memory of resistance, the memory of pressure, the memory of control, the memory of trying too hard — all of which create the very tension we seek to dissolve.

Maybe that’s why, after three months away, I could see that steep descent differently. I had forgotten how intimidating it once looked. When riding regularly, I would begin the trail already anticipating the steep section, sometimes stopping halfway – trapped in that same loop of fear. But in forgetting, after a few months, I reset the program. I made room for a new experience.

Or sometimes, when we return, we realize that specific act itself is no longer aligned with us – and that awareness becomes the doorway to a new one.

Closing Reflections

When our actions are aligned with all aspects of the “I” – mind, body, soul, will, and consciousness –, magic unfolds behind the scenes, deep beneath the surface. Eventually, the pieces fall into place on their own alignment.

When that alignment clicks, it’s not just a skill that shifts. Much moves within the entire system – mind, body, emotion, thoughts, presence, action, and more. It’s as if a quiet – and brilliant – adaptive algorithm gently, or sometime forcefully, nudges us in the direction we are meant to go.

🌊 Our Closing Invitation

As you read this, ask yourself:

What is the first task, project, habit or act that came to mind?
And do I need to keep pushing it hard — especially when there is a desire or a need to pause, or when some parts already feel out of alignment?

Maybe all that’s needed is a pause, a breath, and to let the currents briefly carry you to the next stopping point you’re meant to reach. To embrace new perspectives that gently erase the old ones and create space for what’s next.

And lastly:

When was the last time you were out there - moving, challenged, laughing, surrounded by nature, connected in joy… and quietly or loudly reflecting?

Share your reflections in the comments on LinkedIn or Instagram, and we’ll respond - weaving your voices into this unfolding conversation.

🌿 Synchronicity and What Comes Next

As synchronicities unfold and both new and familiar connections emerge, our next piece will focus on occupational well-being – and we have a surprising guest joining the Guest Tides and Currents.

Until next time…

– With care, Zelda 🌊

✨ Disclaimer: This post is for general educational purposes only. It is not medical advice, nor a substitute for professional consultation, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have concerns about your health, please seek guidance from a qualified healthcare professional.

Reflections from the Trail: When the Pause Becomes Integrated Progress