The start of a roller coaster ride, as you slowly inch up to the top of the peak, sucks. It’s boring, slow, and tedious. Yet at the time it doesn’t feel that way. The anticipation of our expectation sustains us, builds in us, and fills us with the sense that this is it, this is the start of something amazing, we know we’re going to get that thrill.
Tick. … Tick. … Tick.
The climb continues.
A brief hesitation at the top resets the reality of the situation and announces the switch from expectation to reality. And then you drop like a lead balloon.
It’s it’s drastic, it’s tremendous, terrifying and exhilarating.
And then it’s on to the next climb, which is shorter, quicker, and in a flash of a second the anticipation comes and goes before your belly settles. The first up and the first down are the ones we remember, we long for, as the speedy ride goes through the twists and turns before it ends.
You’ll laugh, you’ll scream (aloud or inside where no one knows you’re afraid), you’ll hide your eyes and raise your arms above your head to experience every inch of the ride. You might just throw up. There is an inconsequentially low statistical chance that you might actually get hurt, but a high degree of likelihood you’ll experience the thrill of a changing g-force.
And in the end you’ll be brought back in one piece to:
Exactly. Where. You. Started.
The only thing that’s changed is you.
We willingly go out of our way to pay money to feel like this, yet in nearly every other instance of our daily lives, when faced with ta climb, we freeze, if only for a moment, in fear.
On a roller coaster your expectations are all but guaranteed to be met; all you have to do is give up control, and strap in for the ride.
It’s worth it, because you likely never realized that the first leg of the roller coaster was dull until now. Up and down, in a circle, to bring you back to where you started.
The only thing that’s changed is you. And that’s everything.