i feel infinite | a vignette

I’ve been in the habit, lately, of driving out of Canggu in the evenings and into the rice paddies west of town.

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I’ve been in the habit, lately, of driving out of Canggu in the evenings and into the rice paddies west of town, where the traffic is nonexistent and the sweltering Bali sun reflects off the paddy waters to my left and right. I drive for miles and miles, with no destination in mind, no real sense of where I am, weaving in and out of old farmhouses and empty fields and household temples, until the sun and her reflected counterpart kiss like lovers and become one in the earth-shattering event that is sundown. 

I never used to understand why motorcyclists wear earphones on the road. The thought of anyone in a two-wheeled vehicle zooming in between cars and lanes while plugged into a playlist always seemed incredibly foolish to me, mildly suicidal even. 

Well, that’s changed. It’s been a month in Indonesia and I can’t imagine driving anywhere on my scooter without my AirPods. I usually put on something fast-paced and intense for these rides, hip-hop or R&B, but lately on these sunset drives it’s been songs that make me feel some type of way, songs that make me feel like a pair of wings might sprout from my back at any moment and lift me into the sky, songs that make me think sentimental (corny) things about how grateful I am to be alive and how everything is going to be okay. There’s no better feeling than flying 60, 70 down an empty country road as the wind buffets your hair, pressing your shirt against your chest, raising a small dust cloud behind you, the roar of the engine muted behind a thumping beat. In these moments, I have my own Perks of Being a Wallflower tunnel moment: I feel fucking infinite. 

I’ve always loved driving at night, and I keep going even when the sunset fades into dusk. Indo feels more primal, untamed in the dark; it’s pitch black except for the rare streetlamp and the faint lights of other drivers in the distance. There’s a subtle threat beneath all this, a faint acknowledgement of the risk but I think it’s beautiful and it makes my heart beat a little faster. I think about how Bali now is unrecognizable from 10 years ago, completely different from 5, and will be unrecognizable once again in 5. Time moves slowly now, I think to myself, but it feels fast once it’s in the rearview. 

Waxing poetry aside, wearing earphones on the bike actually has a functional purpose(!): Bali traffic is intensely loud. The thrust of the throttle, the relentless honking, the clamor of tourists and vendors all around you… sometimes the din is so overwhelming I can barely hear my own thoughts. So yes, not only am I listening to music on a scooter, but I also have noise cancellation on…

But the thing is, I’ve realized that the music makes me a better driver. I find myself way more relaxed, way more.. locked in. Music brings me into a flow state when I’m on the road, similar to how I feel when I’m surfing; my mind is relaxed yet alert, and everything I do – every little motion – is part of a single fluid movement that neither interrupts nor riles my sense of calm. Even as I weave between cars, pass other bikes, check my mirrors, or honk at the occasional transgressor, my mind is at ease and I’m simply flowing. Traffic implies a struggle, a fight against time and stillness and the torrential onslaught of other drivers, but in these moments traffic is not an opponent for me to beat down but more like a maze with translucent, spongelike walls that I gently pass through like water. I become a part of the traffic itself – a stitch in the fabric, a cell in the sprawling, living ecosystem that is driving in Indonesia.

rice paddies to my left and right, reflecting everything above.

The irony is that prior to this trip, I’ve had a lifelong aversion to mopeds, scooters, and motorbikes. I didn’t even like go-karting – even on a contained track, wearing a helmet, the fear of being so physically exposed to whatever might come hurtling at me (or me at it) made me deeply uncomfortable. In college, my friend drove me to class on his motorbike and I remember screaming at him to slow down every ten seconds, swearing to never do it again as I got off and wobbled into the classroom on shaky legs.

But that’s the thing about fear, isn’t it? It’s not some unconquerable impasse that can and will always stand in our way. Fear is more like a steep mountain that we can get over if we really put our mind to it. Pete, one of my best friends, used to be terrified of heights – it prevented him from passing certain steeper sections on hikes, and he’d wait until the rest of us finished the hike and came back. But Pete kept hiking, and gradually he climbed higher and higher until finally this fear of heights was whittled down from an impassable wall into a smaller, scalable rock. In less than a year, we were hiking Kauai’s Kalalau trail together, one of the top backpacking trails in the world with a terrifying “crawler’s ledge” section; he barely paused at that part. Fear had become an uncomfortable but familiar friend.

I think – I know – Bali traffic would be infinitely more terrifying if it weren’t a maze I could pass through but one that I had to navigate, shivering in fear at every corner. To pass through it I had to flow with it; to flow I first had to step out of my comfort zone and practice driving a scooter in Indonesia. Like Pete, I had to put in my reps and force myself onto the roads so I could learn to be comfortable on a two-wheeled vehicle (and, more importantly, get to the beaches I wanted to surf).

Flow dissolves fear. Flow comes with practice; practice requires nothing but time and effort. Fear, I think, boils down to a willingness to try (or the lack thereof).

But yes, the music helped, too :)

sunsets in indonesia will always, always have my heart.

written in canggu, indonesia on june 24th, 2023.
polished and edited in berlin on august 28.