Pedaling Between Worlds: Gear shifts

When you’re riding a bike, there’s a quiet click before the change, a tiny pause between gears when the chain lifts, searches and finds its new place. That moment, brief but uncertain, is where I’ve been living lately.

I began on the third gear, with less strenuous pedaling. It was a matter of adjustment without mental strain. But all of a sudden, everything around me accelerated. It started midway through the quarter, when project deadlines started to overlap, office hours hours became a calm in the calamity and I was surrounded by friends who had their own battles with numerous midterms. I was no longer sure which version of myself was pedaling: the girl from Guyana who thrived on structure and routine or the Stanford student trying to match a world that never slows down.

I used to think shifting gears was a simple act of pushing harder, moving faster and keeping up. But now I realize every shift demands a choice: pedaling harder and putting in even more hours of work, or keeping the gear low and easy but letting other aspects slip. If you shift too quickly, the chain grinds. I decided to shift higher. I’m now in gear four. 

In Guyana, the pace had its differences. It was fast, too, but since I had pedaled my way through life there for so long, it was as if the roads were molded to guide my wheels. I remember looking out my classroom window and seeing the Atlantic Ocean and sea walls lined with food stalls. I used to wonder which barbecue stall was the one my family and I would stop by after school. Then, I’d be reeled back into the lesson with the mention of an assignment, my attention flowing from scenery to class work. Amid the speed, life had moments where it would slow down. Life moved in paragraphs in Guyana. But at Stanford — zooming from one end of this campus to another to make the class that was ten minutes later, the cold fall breeze whipping my face — life moved in bullet points. 

Here, it’s all motion. The quarter system runs like a sprint, with new material, new expectations, new essays every week. The moment you find balance, the incline changes. I used to love the idea of acceleration, but lately, I’ve been wondering what happens when your legs start to ache.

Sometimes, I’d try to return to the third gear to let the wheels take me along. But that kind of ease causes the bicycle to spiral out of control, and I came to realize that these gears would just have to be overcome one at a time. I started visiting office hours, started speaking up in class more and asked for help with problems I didn’t understand. I even visited the late night spots all across campus for Stanford-style barbecue tenders or a pizookie (a certain someone claims it’s called a bazooka) when I needed some extra motivation. Each moment, I felt a gear grinding. 

I wasn’t so afraid of the fourth gear anymore. I eased the pedals, let the chain catch and started moving slowly, steadily. The motion smoothed out. My legs found a rhythm. I wasn’t flying, but I wasn’t falling behind either.

I thought of how often we expect ourselves to accelerate through change, as if speed equals success. But sometimes, the most important growth happens in those pauses between gears. When you’re figuring out who you are in a new place. When you’re learning that slowing down isn’t the same as stopping.

Back home, surrounded by family and friends, the cue for switching gears was basically intuition. At Stanford, it’s the opposite, but I learned that sometimes, it’ll be a tough pedal or a smooth ride. Both have truth in them. The art is knowing when to apply which.

Now, I notice gear shifts everywhere, from conversations about the meaning of existence and free will to ones about greater societal messages in anime. I see it even in the quiet courage it takes to say, “I need help.” Each shift feels risky. Each one asks for a new kind of strength.

But that’s what being here, being between worlds, really is. Constantly changing gears, finding new speeds and new ways of being. Sometimes, the chain slips. Sometimes, I stall. But with time, I’ll learn to trust the click, that small sound of readiness before motion.

When I ride now, I listen for it. That moment between what I was and what I’m becoming. It’s no longer something to fear. It’s the sound of growth.

And maybe that’s the lesson every cyclist, and every international student, learns in their own way: that we’re all between who we were back home and who we’re going to become here. And the shift in gear is not something to be feared but something to be attentive to. I’m switching to the fifth gear now. Wish me luck.

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