But somewhere between having busy parents, our house’s walking-distance proximity to my schools, and not growing up with a lot of money, a bike was a luxury that never really occurred to me as a kid. As a teenager and adult, however, I’d be lying if I said that living with a mental illness didn’t factor into my bike-free life. Living with depression and, at times, mild anxiety, means that I’m way more comfortable if I am entirely in control of my surroundings, as opposed to being influenced by any other kind of contraption — even if said contraption relies on my own exertion. It’s the same reason that I can count on my hands the number of times I’ve driven a car, despite having a license. Plus, moving to New York City at 17 meant that I spent a lot of formative young adulthood years in a place where walking and public transportation were the easiest ways to get around, so I never needed to learn to ride a bike.