Ferris Wheels of Life

Today, I took my daughter to our town's annual namesake event, The Pumpkin Festival. My daredevil daughter is always excited about the prospect of rides and the allure of the all you can ride wristband. Kind of like a compulsive overeater at a Vegas buffet. Much to her chagrin, the actual rides numbered two. A somewhat decrepit-looking carny Ferris wheel and a tot train which circled around the park's sport court. I ponied up a few bucks for a couple of ride tickets and we headed towards the sole ride which could be construed as adventurous in the eyes of a nine year old.

Apparently, the rest of the festival attendees shared our notion. This would undoubtedly be one of life's experiences where time spent waiting would outlast the ride itself. I presume there may be some hidden meaning behind my current obsession with waiting. But, then again, maybe not. In high school and college lit classes, I would often ponder author's intent. Was there a symbolic meaning behind every word or phrase?

Back to the subject at hand. The longer I spent in the line, the more unsure I became about riding the somewhat rickety looking carnival attraction. A sign listing height requirements for children "traveling alone" calmed my nerves, especially when I noticed a few kids who could not have been older than first graders proudly climbing into the seats. Well, that is until the woman in front of us declared she wouldn't be joining her kids because she would "get sick." I had promised my daughter at least a spin on a ride and I was not about to let my hesitation disappoint.

My daughter dropped the tickets into the bucket. We climbed into our basket. The attendant buckled and harnessed us into safety. As we slowly ascended the circle, stopping so others could get on, my daughter commented, "I hope this ride goes really fast so it will be over soon!" I chuckled under my breath. I am more of the "let's just close our eyes if it gets too scary" school of thought.

When everyone was aboard, the ride began more fluid movements. I have to admit, it was rather fun! I sang along to a Journey tribute band as we soared above the park, admiring the mountains in the distance. A beautiful, clear October day in Southern California.

The ride was over within two songs. We climbed out of the basket, ready for an order of freshly cut fries and a hand squeezed lemonade or some other carnival treat. Never one to take things at face value, I thought about the day's lesson. Life sometimes resembles a rickety carnival ride. We spend so much energy worrying about the future, in general and specific. When our basket stops atop to let others on, time stands still. We wish the ride would speed up so we could get off quickly. Anticipation is often much worse than the actual object of fear.

If we admire the surroundings and sing along to the music, the ride becomes less scary. If all else fails, we can always shut our eyes!