Reflection: On Moving

by Cynthia Bott, PhD, LCSW

     Several years ago, I rode my bike from Albany, New York, to North Canton, Ohio. (There was a little Amtrak ride from Buffalo to Cleveland, but it didn’t dampen my sense of accomplishment.)  By the time my brother, nephew, cousin, and I rolled through the congratulations banner stretched across the road in front of my aunt’s house and popped the champagne, we had cranked out 451 miles. 

     I had spent the two months previous to the ride training in upstate New York, which can be a cold and windy place in the spring. I would return from my rides winded, unable to feel toes and fingers, and wavering in the commitment I had made to my fellow riders.  I would fantasize about ways to back out of the ride, but my partner repeated the same take it one day at a time litany week after week, and before I knew it, I was riding 40 to 50 miles every couple of days with maintenance rides in between.  Committing to and completing the ride was one of the biggest accomplishments of my life.

     In the years since, I have continued biking and am going to begin training in the fall for an 8-day trip on the Natchez Trace Parkway next spring. I have reached a point in my biking self where I am no longer constantly aware of the physical demands of the ride and my mind starts to drift and wander. I call this a biking stream of consciousness. It is one of those moments and its clinical implications I now want to relate.

     It started with a question as I was halfway through a 20-mile ride. How was it I found myself riding through a beautiful countryside on a July morning? I had not identified as a cyclist when we were living in California, even though I went through periods of using a bike as a commute vehicle. I had never entertained or imagined riding a bike farther than the distance it took to get from the terminal of the Vallejo bus line to an office building in Berkeley. Leaving California, my home for almost 30 years, to move to New York to begin study at a doctoral program, I had increased the amount of time I spent with my family of origin because of proximity.  A few of them were casual bike riders, and during one visit to Ohio, I had tagged along on one of these rides. It was later in the weekend when I proposed the ride from Albany to North Canton. 

     The idea for the ride came out of nowhere. Uninhibited. Free. Those listening to the conversation were supportive and appropriately critical. I realized the move east had given me a chance to redefine myself as someone who might be able to develop the physical stamina to undertake such a demanding ride. 

     I began to reflect on two other moves I have made that have been critical to my sense of self and growth. The first was the move to Bowling Green, Ohio, to attend college for my undergraduate degree. The second was the move to San Francisco in my early twenties. I would not have been able to be the person I am today without those physical moves. I left behind rage, and I embraced my life as a lesbian, I continue to struggle with overeating, but my relationship to food has changed, and I sat in grief. I asked myself if I would have been able to be the person I am today without those moves, and the answer is maybe but my gut tells me it would have been more arduous, not as free, and limiting. The physical act of moving, pulling up roots, being left with myself, and consciously wanting to redefine my sense of self has been exponentially propelled by moves. To this day, I still cherish the memories I have of going off to Bowling Green with a determination to become more of the person I wanted to be and knowing I would have the space to do the work. 

     I started making a connection to the work we do as clinicians, especially those of us who have worked with clients in therapy. When clients tell us they are having urges or fantasies of flight to a different physical locale, we have a tendency to close the conversation down. I have heard mental health professionals refer to this as “pulling a geographic.” Clinicians will often try to talk a client out of leaving, convinced the client is running from something best treated in the present location. In my work, I have tended toward the opposite, which is to examine with the client what it means to run toward something. I want to support the desire clients have, desires we all have, to make conscious decisions to redefine ourselves, and if someone needs to pull up stakes to accomplish this, I want to be waving good-bye when their train leaves the station.  Everyone has the capacity to become an explorer.

     I turned 61 this year. I don’t know when or if the next big geographical move will happen, but I intend to make the most of it if it does. 

Cynthia Bott, PhD, LCSW, is an associate professor at Siena College, located in Loudonville, NY. Her current clinical work is as a psychiatric social worker in emergency rooms.