Reflections on a Bike Trip to Taiwan

It's been three weeks since my ride with dad through Taiwan. Since returning to Hong Kong, life has been a whirlwind of busyness: starting school again, attending church events, and re-adjusting to our routine after the holiday. In between all of this, our Under 12 Girl's Basketball team won a pretty epic Bronze medal. It capped off a long four-month season in which we took a team of eight girls who could barely dribble to nearly knock off the eventual champs losing by only one point. So suffice to say, I haven't really had time to settle down and think about Taiwan.

To be honest, part of me has been hesitant to cap off the trip with a reflection because it ended rather anti-climatically. Throughout the trip I kept waiting for some sort of profound epiphany that never materialized. And as dad and I finished our trip in Taipei, both of us were pretty tired out from the ride. Since returning to Hong Kong three rainy Sundays ago I haven't really caught up with him.

Looking back now, I realize that this trip was pretty special in many ways. How often will I be able to spend a full week of uninterrupted time travelling with my dad? And even though we spent less time talking about life than I had hoped for, the trip was meaningful because we shared in the experience together. It'll always be something we can look back on with fondness.

Here are a few lessons I learned looking back:

Put That Phone Away:

Technology: The bane of our existence. It's a gift that is so promising and a curse that robs us from the present moment. As our trip progressed, it because increasingly alarming was just how badly attached I was to technology, in particular my phone. I hadn't noticed this when we first started the trip, and in fact had even poked fun of dad for his constant updates on Facebook and his tendency to take photos at every turn. And yet, soon enough, I found myself constantly checking my phone at every pit stop, posting on Instragram, and updating our progress.

Granted, so many of the places we visited were absolutely stunning and taking a photo was justified, but it became more than that. I remember starkly realizing towards the end of the trip (when dad ironically broke his phone by dropping it) how enslaved we were to our phones. We had been sharing one phone between the two of us and using every moment to blog or update that spent more time typing away on our 4 inch screen than actually talking with each other. It seemed silly that on a father-son trip we would talk more about each other in our updates than actually talk to each other. How strange that on such an eventful trip we would spend more time with our devices.

I think we've entered into an age of paradox where our technology grants us the freedom to be so close to the world yet so distant from the people actually close to us. We use our phones to broadcast our lives to the world and yet when it comes to interacting with those around us, we freeze and hide behind the screens of our phones. And strangely, deep within each one of us lies the need to be known and connected and yet not to be known at all. We sterilize the messy bits of our lives and show only the presentable, the parts that get the most 'likes'. Without our phones we are unmasked beings, paralyzed in the present, afraid of what others may truly think about our true selves.

Since we're on the topic of technology, here's a little digression about an interesting guy we met in Taipei. In the art district at HuaShan 1914 Cultural Park, there were some art exhibitions on display in old warehouses. A photographer was displaying some of his photo projects in one of the rooms. He was a hardcore instant-film enthusiast and avid Polaroid camera collector (and by avid, I mean he has one of six limited edition Polaroid cameras in the world that cost upwards of 10 grand USD and dozens and dozens of others) He shared with us his distaste for camera phones as they have diluted the art of photography and eroded the care needed to craft each photo and capture the essence of the moment. "People just snap away at everything and anyone," he lamented. "There's no meaning to photography anymore." For Jacky meaningful photography lay in capturing a spontaneous moment on film that cannot be altered or changed because it frames into memory a person and his/her significance to you.

Indeed it is curious that we have technology that enables us to capture every moment, but the abundance of this medium itself cheapens the moment. We have album after album of digital prints of places we have been and things we have done - all so we can share with people who might not care and gain one more notch on our social media belt. What Jacky the photographer said was convicting and I found myself fumbling through my motives for always snapping meaningless pictures. Perhaps it's time to think about what it really means to be present in the lives of others in a more meaningful way.


We endure pain for the things we feel are worthwhile: 

I hate dislike cycling (for hate is too strong a word). I dislike riding because it is tedious, mostly painful and generally a slow going to get where you need to be. It came as no surprise that I struggled through many parts of the trip. My butt ached, my knee hurt, and I was bored of the tedium of pedalling mile after mile. Dad on the other hand had no such problems. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy the process. For him it was worthwhile to bike, perhaps for the exercise, perhaps for the adrenaline, or maybe for the thought of accomplishing something great. His motivation for enduring the pain lay in his goal and finish line. All I saw was the pain that lay three steps ahead of me.

This led me to think about how we as humans and spiritual beings are actually quite willing to endure and sacrifice for the things we hold dear. As a teacher, I always lament that our youth don't have the discipline or gumption to sacrifice. But now I see that it's not that we don't sacrifice, but we sacrifice for lesser things. There are plenty of us who are willing to endure the pain of working out to look good, the toil to earn a good paycheck, or the long hours of hitting the books to get good grades. There are even those of us (myself included) who are willing to pour hours of our lives into video games, watching youtube videos, and checking social media. We pour our lives into these things, clouded with myopic vision and blinded to the greater things to which God calls us to sacrifice. We are unwilling to endure for the Kingdom's sake. We forget to look heavenward.

In Hebrews 12, the Scriptures admonish us to lay aside every encumbrance to run with endurance the race that is set before us. We are told to run in the example of the saints who went before us - the great cloud of witnesses who stand beckoning us onward - and we are called to run toward Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith. He is our goal and he is our prize. We are told to fix our eyes on Him.

What drives my dad to endure the pain of a 42K marathon or a cross-Taiwan bike ride? He sees the prize at the end. We too then, ought to run our spiritual journey with the end in mind, for surely our prize at the end will be worth every hardship we endure now.


Relationship with my father:

The last thought is something closest to heart and something I'm least able to write about because it's something that I'm still trying to understand.

I don't think I've ever spent this much one-on-one time with dad in my life. Ten days isn't a lot, but when it's just the two of you and all you're doing is riding a bike, it's a lot of time together. On the trip I got to see a glimpse of the real Otto that gets overlooked by all the people that follow him on Facebook. There are so many great traits I admire about dad: his humility, optimism, wisdom and determination. And then there are all the flaws, habits, and pieces of brokenness that surface in the friction of nearness and relationship.

When I look at myself, I see so much of him passed on, I can't help but think just how profoundly powerful my relationship with my father can be. I see the same insecurities, the same tendency to withdraw from conflicts, and the same fear to get close and invest emotions. I see our shared history that entangles us, the same reluctance to hatch up the pass hurts, and the ambiguity of what it means to be father and son. All these things clearly known, but unspoken of because neither one of us dares. These living momentos are passed on and affect every part of my life. Most of all, they shape my relationship with God.

I'm learning more that I need to unlearn a lot of how I relate to God. I often approach Him with a sense of hesitance, unsure if He is emotionally vested and present. But I'm learning that God loves perfectly and completely and I can pursue an intimacy with Him like no other. I can't say I understand what that looks like, but I'm learning.

Don't get me wrong - my earthly father is pretty awesome. I love him and wouldn't trade him for any other. I'm learning, as I work through the convoluted mess that is life and relationships, that he isn't perfect. And that's okay. I have a Father in Heaven who is.