Recently my husband and I went on a motorcycle trip to the former Roman colony of Carnuntum in Lower Austria. It was a day filled with the roar of an engine, the rush of wind (and a stormy hairstyle, despite the helmet), and an unexpected immersion into the ever-shifting nature of labelled identity and experience.
There's a funny paradox about labels. I generally dislike them; they often distract from the true essence that lies beneath, an essence that requires no external definition. Yet, society often prompts us to adopt them, to assume roles as we move through different situations. In these moments, labels can feel like costumes we put on, or sometimes, even chosen masks. As I donned my new biker jacket and gloves, I giggled. If I had to label myself in that moment, it would be "the biker's wife" – a label that, to me, is hilariously apt and surprisingly liberating in its simplicity. I'm sure I was still "the biker's wife" to the gentlemen at the next table who greeted us heartily (a typical trait of Austrian countryside mentality) when my husband and I, carrying our helmets, settled down for refreshments after having enjoyed our Carnuntum tour. How will the label for the next encounter look like? Niece, Art Historian, Entrepreneur? This constant shift between roles, each with its own set of expectations and perceived expertise, is truly fascinating.
Speaking of expertise, my husband's bike, a Harley Davidson V-Rod 100th-anniversary edition, is a testament to masterful expertise. He acquired it in summer 2024. The moment I saw it, even as a complete layperson knowing nothing about motorbikes, I instantly recognized its undeniable beauty, the perfection of its streamlined aesthetics, even the inherent power in its sound. It's a piece of engineering marvel and design excellence, born from a seven-year development process in collaboration with Porsche. This isn't just a motorcycle; it's a living piece of craftsmanship and heritage, speaking an inherent language of enduring quality. It's fascinating how truly masterful objects communicate their value, often without a single word.
This recognition of excellence, however, isn't always innate. When it came time to choose my own gear, I was completely out of my element. "Choose your jacket", my husband said when we entered the supplier's store, and I felt like an idiot. Beyond basic protection, I had no idea what truly mattered. I found myself asking him, "Please shop with me like you would buy shoes for a five-year-old". It was a moment of profound vulnerability, a stark reminder that when we step outside our own expertise, we are truly like a child, starting from scratch.
This feeling of navigating the new (and perhaps even adding an unexpected label to our personal library) – of trusting guidance in unfamiliar territory – was amplified by the ride itself. Traversing the deep, rich history of Lower Austria on such an unfamiliar means of transportation, holding onto my husband, holding onto dear life itself – because if you let go, you truly understand your mortality – is a unique experience. You realize how present and vulnerable the human body becomes – how every aggregation of cells, every intricate system, is intensely aware of its surroundings, held together with an acute sense of its own exposed reality. This isn't the shielded transit of a car, a cage merely transporting you from A to B. Nor is it the slow, contemplative pace of a simple bicycle. It's the unique combination of raw exposure and exhilarating speed that truly heightens the sensation of connection, forging an immediate bond with the road, the air, and the vastness of the landscape. And as we rode towards the former Roman colony of Carnuntum, that feeling was profound.
Later, walking the scorching Roman premises of Carnuntum – which are totally worth a visit, by the way; imagine Roman thermal baths re-erected and ready for you to explore, including heated pools! – I felt a different kind of connection to history. It wasn't about the speed or exposure, but about an immersive experience that allowed me to bypass the simple label "ancient ruins" and step into a living past. Just as I consciously shifted roles from "biker's wife" to "visitor", I was able to experience the essence of the site beyond its historical label.
This journey through labels and experiences brought a fascinating insight: how much we rely on trust and guidance when we're in unfamiliar territory. Just as I needed a knowledgeable guide to help me appreciate the nuances of biker gear and the profound sensations of the ride, so too do we all need trusted insights when seeking true quality and authentic connection beyond our usual spheres. My own journey with that Harley and through Carnuntum, moving from initial admiration to a deeper understanding forged through its story and direct experience, mirrors journeys of discovery I have witnessed in others.
Whether it's recognizing the profound beauty of a meticulously crafted object, or finding your own authentic path and the true self beneath the accumulated labels, the journey begins with an open mind and a willingness to learn. It's about appreciating the inherent language of excellence, navigating the new with courage, and ultimately, connecting with what is truly, unshakeably true.