What the Hell Am I Doing?

Stolen from somewhere years ago but still true today.
 
     by J.D. Tuccille
 
     There's nothing like the feeling of a motorcycle sliding 

out from beneath you on a busy thoroughfare to focus the mind 

beautifully on the value of life. As your ass bounces from 

the cushioned seat toward the hard tarmac with the screech of 

unseen cars slamming on their brakes to your rear, you have 

one glorious moment in which to ask yourself: "What the hell 

am I doing?"
 
     You see, that's the precise question that flashed through 

my mind as my accelerating rear wheel spun helplessly on an 

oil slick and 400lbs of Japanese machinery cushioned its fall 

with 170lbs of J.D. Tuccille.
 
     My left elbow slammed against the asphalt before I had 

time to consider the answer.
 
     But to a large extent, it's the question itself that 

matters the most: "What the hell am I doing?" Sooner or later 

most of us ask that same question. We ask it when we're doing 

something foolish, or brave, or unfamiliar, and we especially ask 

it when the situation goes sour -- when we find ourselves airborne 

in late-morning traffic. And if we don't ask it of ourselves, 

somebody else is sure to do us the favor: "What the hell are you 

doing?"
 
     The question means that we're taking risks, trying something 

new, or just pushing the boundaries of our usual behavior. It means 

that we're living, not just existing; to pass through life without 

facing that question would imply a tightly constrained existence 

lacking risk and adventure.
 
     Not every situation that provokes the question is to our credit, 

of course. Sometimes we've made a mistake, sometimes we've 

embarrassed ourselves, and sometimes we've made a complete balls-up 

of a situation and we find ourselves staring up from the ground into 

the face of an Emergency Medical Technician. And whether we decide 

that our latest venture was a moment of glory or shame, it's a sure 

bet that somebody else views our decision with disdain; we all have 

our own lives, and our own very different standards by which to 

judge them.
 
     But it's important to remember that while everybody has the 

right to ask the question of himself and others, only the person on 

the spot, the person living that moment has the right to offer a 

binding answer. And that is what gives life so much of its value. 

We have the right to try, to risk dignity and even death as we take 

the basic fact of existence and mold it into a life worthy of the 

name through a personal choice of experiences, occupations, and 

adventures.
 
     So when others try to answer the question for us, to prevent 

us from taking the risk because they don't approve, they don't 

just do us a disservice -- they rob us of the freedom that gives 

life its value. Through laws and taxes and regulations they try to 

consign us to an existence instead of a life; and this is not 

because the decisions they would make for us are necessarily bad 

decisions, but because they are not our own.
 
     Some people -- not enough -- do understand this. After the 

accident, when the EMTs had assured themselves that my limbs were 

all in place and that I remembered my name, one turned to me and 

said: "And now for the important question: How's the bike?" As an 

EMT he had certainly seen his share of nasty motorcycle accidents 

-- incidents that ended with consequences more serious than my 

broken arm. But he understood, or at least respected, my decision 

to ride and to take risks that others find unacceptable.
 
     We have the right to demand that attitude of everybody: 

disagree with us, call us fools, live your own lives differently, 

but don't try to tell us what decisions we may make in the conduct 

of our lives. Because the value of life is determined not by the mere 

drawing of one breath after another, but by the freedom to make our 

own decisions; to mold our lives as best we can into a shape that 

pleases us, and to enjoy the benefits or suffer the consequences.
 
     What the hell was I doing? I was living my life. 

Now hand me my helmet or get out of the way.