Searching For Purpose
These words came to me while celebrating one of my favorite holiday, Kwanzaa, surrounded by family. It was the fifth day, dedicated to Nia, the Swahili word for "Purpose" or "Intentionality." During our roundtable discussion, we reflected on how this principle shaped our lives over the past year and how we could integrate it more deeply moving forward. This year, our conversation focused on intentionality—not just as a family, but in our individual lives and communities.
This led me to reflect on one of the most resilient communities in my life—the cycling community. My relationship with the bicycle has been lifelong, but only recently did I realize its significance. As I pondered my connection to cycling, I thought about its deeper ties to the Black community.
My mother’s favorite poet, Maya Angelou, once said, "You can't really know where you are going until you know where you have been." Like our contributions to music, literature, and fashion, Black folks have played a pivotal role in the history and culture of cycling. Yet, our impact has often been overlooked due to systemic racism. Consider Marshall "Major" Taylor, the world cycling champion in 1899 and the "Fastest Bicycle Rider in the World." Or inventors like Matthew Cherry, who patented the tricycle, and Jerry Certain, who created bicycle panniers. Despite these contributions, navigating the cycling world as Black individuals remains a challenge in a society that continues to test our resilience.
But we continue to thrive. From Kitty Knox breaking barriers in Boston to Maize Wimbush becoming the first African American Female Junior National Champion in 2021, we have left an indelible mark on the sport. Community based groups like Black Watts Cycling Club (Watts, CA), Lifestyle Cycling Club (Washington, D.C.), and Dope Pedalers (Atlanta, GA) use bikes to mobilize and build community. Initiatives like the Ride for Racial Justice create safe spaces for BIPOC riders, while films like Bike Vessel showcase the bicycle as a life-saving tool in Black communities.
All of this made me think deeply about the role cycling has played in my own life. During our Kwanzaa discussion, my grandmother shared that our purposes evolve as we grow. Her purpose as a teenager differs from her purpose today, and this resonated with me. At seven, when my cousin tried to teach me to ride, the purpose wasn’t just learning to pedal—it was about persistence and resilience. At fourteen, biking through the neighborhood with friends wasn’t just about fun—it was about building bonds and lifelong friendships. At twenty-four, as a Community Center Director in East Winston-Salem, distributing bikes to kids wasn’t just an act of kindness—it was about planting seeds that might one day grow into something transformative. Maybe one of those kids will become the next Major Taylor or Ayesha McGowan.
Looking back, I realize the bike has been much more than a tool for exercise. It has combated health disparities, fostered community, mentored youth, and served as a platform for advocacy. It has taught me life lessons, provided freedom, and guided me toward purpose. Now, at thirty-one, as a Ph.D. student and cycling club coordinator, cycling holds new meanings. It still offers an escape, but it also drives me to think critically about deeper connections and purposes. Through my experiences, I’ve found not just purpose, but a deeper connection with myself and community.
