You’re already a leader.

I knew they’d be watching as I rounded the corner, so I let out a cheer and pumped my bloody fist in the air. 

I was in Greece, on the island of Cephalonia, joining part of my family on a sailboat for a week. From our berth on the back patio of a cafe, we walked into the hills above the town of Fiskardo and discovered a moped rental shop. My uncle, the captain, suggested we go for a ride. Of course I was all in.

After living in Isla Vista for a few years, I felt confident on a two wheeled bicycle. But having recently acquired my motorcycle license, I was downright cocky on anything with a motor. It didn’t help that the views were incredible as we followed an impeccably paved road over mountain passes and saw beaches I thought only existed on Instagram. At least I insisted on wearing a full helmet. 

I held my arms out like I was flying as we weaved through the traffic. Or rather, a lot of fast moving Greek cement trucks weaved around my little family caravan. Seriously, there was a surprising number of drivers on the road, and half of them were in cement trucks. Is Cephalonian infrastructure expanding that fast? Maybe that’s how they keep the roads so nice.

The ditches next to the roads were not that nice. My family pulled over into one so the hundredth truck of the afternoon could speed past. I ended up close to the back, so most of my group had already rounded a corner by the time I took my chance to get back on the road. The curb I had to surmount was substantial, about half the height of my little moped wheel, but I trusted what I’d learned while getting my license—hit the obstacle straight and hard. So I gunned it out of the ditch.

There was a loud crack, then I was weightless. My wheels slammed down, first the front then the back, and I distinctly remember thinking, “holy shit, I got air.” I didn’t panic, but I had a death grip on the throttle for balance and needed to slow down to regain control. Instead, I got the speed wobbles and ended up catapulting myself over the handlebars like a rag doll. This time in the air my thoughts were about how little protection my t-shirt and board shorts were about to offer me.

It didn’t hurt so bad at first, but I won’t forget the feeling of my sandal straps and toenails scraping the asphalt as I slid into the oncoming lane. My cousins thought I was dead. I probably should have been—I learned later that a sightseer had already stopped traffic in the opposite direction to admire a nice beach. To everyone's surprise, I picked myself up, screwed the mirror back into my ride, and kept on down the road to where the rest of my family was waiting. They were for sure gonna freak out about the blood like my cousins who’d actually seen the crash, and I couldn’t let them. I did the only thing I could think to do. I rode into their view with my bleeding fist raised high and cheered like I was having the time of my life.

Later that day, three different people said three separate things that stuck with me. 

First, one cousin compared me to Icarus. At the time I wanted to deny it, but I can’t. I even took my hands off the handlebars to spread my arms out like I was flying. I felt like I was flying.

Second, my aunt said I was lucky a cement truck wasn’t coming the other way. I had never felt a deeper gratitude to God than the moment I heard that.

Third, my cousin’s boyfriend sorta thanked me. He told me that my reaction to the crash, when everyone first saw me, was great. It definitely prevented a ruined vacation. 

I had been invited on this vacation, so I was grateful to just tag along for the ride. But at that moment, I had the trip by the huevos. I determined how it would go because everyone looked to me for their reactions. 

There’s no such thing as just tagging along for the ride. There are times to go with the flow and times to take control, but even if you’re the low man on the totem pole you still have agency. You’re always a leader to some degree, and people are looking.