Life is crazy. I mean, really crazy. Some compare it to riding a roller coaster, where there are dips and turns, ups and downs, and the occasional upside-down roll with a twist. Often times, we just hope to make it off the coaster without too many bumps, bruises, wounds, etc. We pray that we aren’t part of the rare but catastrophic train wreck, where the track seems to be missing, or broken, or of a bad design…
But if life is a roller coaster, how do we approach the ride?
Do we embrace it? Or does it cause a sense of panic within?
Do we feel we aren’t big enough to meet the minimum requirements?
Or are we too bold for our own good—lacking appreciation of the dangers inherent in the journey?
Either way, I bet there are times you wish you weren’t on the track.
I love adventure. I love to feel the wind of freedom in my face, I love the smell of pine needles in the cool of the evening. I even love a good love story every now and then.
These are the high points on my roller coaster.
But then there are the tragedies.
There was the time my best friend died when we were twenty.
There have been the feelings of loss, heartache, loneliness.
The loss of female relationship has left me feeling dark and cold as well.
Life seems to deal blows like that. These are the low points on the journey. Like the time when the coaster turns upside-down and I’m not ready for it, leaving me with a very nauseating light-headed sensation that lasts for hours, if not weeks.
But part of my love of adventure is the freedom, the rush that comes with the rapid turns of the coaster; even turning upside-down can be a great thrill if I’m ready for it.
I like to say that this is fun because the coaster has full control, where I have none.
But is this an accurate description?
There are those who ride roller coasters with their hands elevated the entire time. I am not one of them. I like to grip the harness tightly during the intense turns.
Sometimes I’ll emulate the arm-raisers. But it is usually at a point on the track where I know what’s ahead, or where I feel comfortable, or where we’re not really going that fast.
But the second the ride gets more challenging, the second the ride requires more trust from me, I pull the hands down, hold on for dear life, and (white knuckles and a hand cramp later) I arrive back at the station.
Here’s the problem with that kind of mentality as it relates to life:
If I am comfortable raising my arms, “letting go” during the easy times, what kind of adventure is that?
I ride the coasters in the name of excitement, thrill, adventure, but I sometimes sabotage the full enjoyment by my tight grip.
How often do we do that on life’s roller coaster?
Are you as much of a control freak as I am?
Do we hold on too tightly when the real fun is in letting go?
The reason this is sabotage is, we ride in the name of adventure, but we hold on. We go in the name of freedom, but we stiffen up during the tough turns. We go for the thrill of being at the track’s mercy, but we peek around the corner to see the degree of the turn.
See what I’m getting at?
Now, what if there were this ultimate roller coaster—one that had unpredictable length, steepness, turns, flips, etc. And to top it all off, you had to ride it blindfolded and backward?
I would imagine there would be a line out of the park for a ride like this.
But such a ride does exist.
And the line is usually so short that it requires no wait.
The trick is in the approach. The trick is in the willing submission of control (or the illusion thereof—do we really have any control in this anyway?)
I want to ride like that. I want to be comfortable going in backward and blindfolded. I want my scream of thrill’s pure delight to be heard for miles.
I want to be willing to let go of the bars for a while. Willing to offer control to the maker of the track—even if I don’t know exactly what that requires or where it takes me.
When it comes time for me to step out of the car and off the track, I want to know that I trusted the coaster completely, that I allowed myself the utmost enjoyment of the ride, that I was relaxed during the intense times.
I want my hair and face to be windblown, my heart to be racing, my breath to be gone.
But I want my knuckles to be loose and my hands to be relaxed.
And then I want to try skydiving…
