The Boldness of Riding a Motorcycle with ADHD: Embracing Risks

The concept of death is daunting primarily because it is impossible to visualize 'nothing.' Inherently, our minds and bodies reject things that are unfamiliar. This rejection of the unknown may be why various cultures and religions create narratives and ideologies around the afterlife — to provide death with limits, a purpose, and a significance. However, death is probably the one event in life that one cannot avoid, shun or discredit. All you can do is strive to delay it.

Nevertheless, I drive a motorcycle daily, cognizant that the only inviolable laws are those of physics and destiny. A single error can result in injury or in some cases, something worse. This fact may be discomforting and morose, but it also imparts a sense of liberation.

So, why does an apparatus that I infer could potentially inflict harm or cause my death, play such a crucial role in my existence?

I believe it is closely linked to the ADHD I have. Riding offers unadulterated tranquility, concentration, and an adrenaline surge. The objective is straightforward: travel from point A to point B alive. It becomes crucial for everything and nothing, imbuing each trip and movement with an energy that dispels exhaustion. There is no margin for error and my only safety is my reactive ability and proficiency as a motorcyclist.

The aura of risk and danger is tangible as I decide to increase speed, a silent testament to the vast power beyond my audacity. In that moment, nothing else is of significance. Void of distractions, it's only me, the sound of music in my ears, the road paved with asphalt and the obstacles ahead, my hands clasping a potent rocket nestled snugly against my body. It positions me perilously close to the edge of oblivion each and every time. (This adds a dramatic flair to an ordinary grocery run as well.)

Something within me transformed when I rode my first bike at the age of 14. I relished that sensation, akin to an endless rollercoaster ride. It became a necessity, leading to a biking obsession that lasted seven years until my parents finally consented to my owning one. They were intriguing and perilous, much like diving eagles. Since then I have maneuvered bikes through tropical storms and down hazardous, ruined roads — without ever regretting not owning a car.

When my last bike was stolen and ruined, I was filled with heart-wrenching grief, akin to losing a loved one. I felt bereaved, as though the robbers stole more than just a vehicle, but something that allowed me to truly experience freedom.

We inhabit a sensible society that can often feel restraining, especially for people with ADHD. Our society's functioning is reliant on guidelines and a measure of caution. Everything is regulated, foreseen, economically profitable, secure, and in order. While I do not particularly mind rules, maximum of which are reasonable, it doesn't coexist with our ADHD mindset. Guidelines prohibit risk-taking which our dopamine-deprived minds are heavily inclined towards.

Every Sunday, I provide personalized swimming lessons for children with autism and ADHD. Two years into this, I observed that most of my neurodivergent students outperform their neurotypical peers once they are allowed to advance directly to handling deep water. For instance, a five-year-old girl with autism in my tutelage now swims 25-meter lengths. Overcoming conventional teaching methods, and stepping into the water with her to ensure safety with her mother’s approval, we flouted the center's depth restrictions. She instinctively adjusts to minimize the risk, she is perfectly able and content, but if taught at the shallow end, she switches off.

On another occasion, I was tasked with teaching a student with ADHD to tread water ensuring his survival out of depth. After a few lessons together, I dove into the pool's deep end with a float and instructed him to retrieve a rubber duck next to me. Initially, he was apprehensive about the depth but then he exclaimed, “Give me a minute. I’ve not got Lord Duckington yet!” Having achieved his target, he tread water for a full minute. This challenge pushed him to innovate, which he did successfully. Despite being just eight years old, he exhibits maturity beyond his age.

When the sole restrictions are the unyielding, relentless but logical laws of nature, it offers perspective. These laws are invaluable for neurotypical minds. It's a survival instinct: sink or swim. The proximity to death, or the threat of it, provides ultimate limits. It simplifies things, making the often perplexing (and sometimes trivial) reality of our diverse social and economic structures easier to rationalize and comprehend.

Learn to ride a motorbike or swim (safely, with witnesses, please!) a little out of your depth (safely, or at least with witnesses, please!), and you’ll see what I mean.

SUPPORT ADDITUDE Thank you for reading ADDitude. To support our mission of providing ADHD education and support, please consider subscribing. Your readership and support help make our content and outreach possible. Thank you.