These first two months of 2025 have created chaos like I’ve never known. Problems punch me faster than I can duck and cover. I didn’t ask for any of it. Believe me.
This current chaos reminds me of an incident that happened when I was six years old. As a first grader, I considered myself an amusement park veteran, even though we only went once a year, and I was allowed only the kiddie rides.
The year I was six, however, on the day of our annual visit to Elitch Gardens in Denver,
I let my parents know I was over those pint-size Kiddie Land wannabes. I demanded to go higher. I demanded to go faster.
Also, I pointed out I was certainly tall enough to meet the height requirements as I was at least a head and a half taller than my peers.
Mommy and Daddy said no to the big rides. I continued cajoling as we strolled towards the dreaded Kiddie Land. Halfway there, a newly installed adult ride caught my attention. I broke Mommy’s grip on my hand and ran to the wooden clown sign with the height requirement for the ride. I pressed my back against the paint, stretching my neck and spine so my head barely cleared the mark.
“See, Mommy and Daddy, I’m taller than the line! I can ride this one!” I proclaimed.
The parentals surveyed the ride in question. It was small, about the same size as the Kiddie Land rides. Four short arms radiated from a central hub. Cars were attached at the end of each arm, resting close to the ground. It looked simple, contained.
My parents were either out of their minds or sick of my incessant haranguing. They looked at each other and then agreed I could ride the little ride by myself.
I chose an empty car and climbed aboard. The attendant secured the bar across the opening and flipped the switch. The hub rose into the air and began to rotate. I gazed over Elitch’s brilliantly patterned flower gardens. Then I floated towards the giant rollercoaster just as one of the coasters careened down a steep hill.
Then I flew into the safety bar as the arm doubled in length and snapped my car out into space. My car started spinning on its own, faster and faster.
The arm rose higher and rotated faster. My car spun faster, pinning me to the wall. Then, the arm plunged my car to the ground, leaving my stomach in space. I jolted to a stop, then hit the opposite wall as the spinning rapidly reversed direction. I shot again into space, then plunged to the earth.
The sequence of up, drop, spin, jolt, reverse spin repeated. Over and over. Again and again.
A few seconds into it, I was through. I screamed, ordering the attendant to stop the ride and let me off. He didn’t. I shrieked at Mommy as she flicked into view. She didn’t move to rescue me.
I continued caterwauling by myself until the ride eventually slowed. The arms folded back into themselves. My car lowered and floated to a gentle stop near the ground. The attendant released me and rolled his eyes. I stumbled to my parents who were not at all distressed by my reaction. They shrugged and said, “You asked for it,” and hauled me over to Kiddie Land where I learned resiliency by subjecting myself to age-appropriate amusement park rides.
A frozen custard cone also helped me regain equilibrium.
That first monster ride ended gently. This time, I’m not so sure my chaotic ride will end at all, let alone end happily.
Riding chaos this time, though, I find I’m not alone. Hands cover mine as I white-knuckle the bar trapping me in the car. A voice says, “When you’re done shrieking ‘I didn’t ask for THIS!’, call your Congresspeople and here’s a script for what to say.” Another voice adds, “Here’s a prayer for health.” Still, someone else pulls up a screen and plays a funny cat video to take our minds out of the chaos for a minute or two. I also find, and relish, a frozen custard cone, or at least its modern-day equivalent.
I’ve come close to losing it few times, but so far, I’ve kept my equilibrium. How’s yours doing? As this is The Exchange, please share your thoughts, concerns, and suggestions about riding chaos. Let’s help each other. Thanks for reading!