Ever since I was a kid, I have enjoyed visiting amusement parks. My parents took us a few times growing up. My dad would dutifully stand by the wagon with the younger kids while my mom took me and my brother on the rollercoasters. My dad hated rollercoasters; my mom loved them. When it was time for the waterpark, my mom would spread a blanket on the grass or patio chair and stay with the stuff while my dad took us on the slides. My dad liked water slides; my mom didn’t. Really the arrangement worked out well for all of us.

One summer when I was about 13 years old, my grandma went with us along with a cousin. Since my grandma was, well, a grandma, we decided to keep things mild for her and took her on the smallest rollercoaster in the park. It was just slightly better than the kiddie rides. The ride started with a gentle curve as the coaster lined up for the hill. As we started up the slope, my grandma commented on the beautiful view and the smooth ride. Sitting next to me in the row with my brother and cousin in the row behind us, my grandma pointed to landmarks and scenery all the way to the top. When the coaster crested the climax and started the thrilling descent, Grandma started screaming. She screamed one long, continuous wail all the way to the bottom, then let out short, rhythmic bursts of shrill protests about every other second until we finally came to a stop back under the loading canopy.

We all stood up to exit the ride as soon as the lap restraints were released, except my grandma. She just sat there, white-knuckled and wide-eyed. We helped her calm down and stand up so we could escort her away from the stares of waiting passengers. After congratulating ourselves for having the good sense to take her on a small rollercoaster instead of a big one, we vowed never to take her again!

While I still like riding rollercoasters, I have noticed that I act a bit like my grandma when life takes sharp turns or daring descents. I scream, hold on tight, and wonder how to get off this ride. When I strap in for a rollercoaster, I feel safe and I’m ready for the thrill. But in life, I usually feel unprepared and wonder if I’ll make it to the end of the ride. Just like a rollercoaster, sometimes my life spins, rises, plummets, and turns. I hold on and wait for the next loop.

At times like this, it is helpful for me to remember that on a rollercoaster, I am just along for the ride. You see, you can’t get off a rollercoaster in the middle. You have to wait until the coaster comes back into the loading area. Sometimes I wish circumstances would change in an instant, but they don’t. Sometimes I don’t like the uncertainty of what is ahead, but the ride doesn’t stop. Sometimes I just want to find a lazy river at the waterpark and float through life, although I know I would get bored.

So I ride the rollercoaster of my life. The slopes go up and show off the beautiful view from the heights before dropping off in a downward turn. Just when I get my bearings again, the ride enters a slalom of dips and turns then things go dark in a tunnel. In these moments, I remember to enjoy the thrill of the ride. If I’m really feeling brave, I might even throw my arms in the air with exhilaration. And then I’m back in the loading zone. I made it.

Photo credit: Ron Scicluna, reflection in Chicago