by Katrina Kaye
I used to close my eyes on roller coasters. Not that I ever liked roller coasters. I spent many an afternoons in my formative years sitting on a park bench in various amusement parks, waiting for my brother and father to get off some upside down, spiraling, scream inducing ride. I’ve always been a patient daydreamer.
There was a time in my early 20’s when I gave roller coasters another shot. I’m sure there was some demon I was trying to slay at the time. Retrospectively, it was nearing the end of my adolescence and maybe I was trying desperately to figure out who I was or reinvent myself as some daredevil type. I thought maybe I never gave roller coasters a fair shake.
So, one summer, at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, I went on the Big Dipper. A roller coaster built in the 20’s, made mostly of wood at the time, and providing one rusty, roll bar for safety. How bad could it be?
I did not enjoy my ride on the Big Dipper. I couldn’t get my eyes open after the first 10 seconds, as though trying to incite some instinctual belief that if I don’t see it, it isn’t happening. But closing my eyes has never stopped anything from happening.
Still, at that moment, as I was tossed from side to side, up to down, and all the places in between, I closed my eyes, embraced my helplessness, and gave myself over to whatever fate decided to show up. I couldn’t make it stop or slow it down, and screaming didn’t seem to stop it, but I could close my eyes and trust what will happen is what is meant to happen.
I ran the odds in my head of how likely it would be that today of all days in its 80 year existence the roller coaster should malfunction. How rare would it be that I should be thrown from my seat or that the wooden structure should collapse on this of all days? After all, hundreds, maybe thousands of people safely survive this roller coaster. It is highly unlikely that the one time in my lifetime I jump on board something terrible would happen. I just had to survive the roughly three minutes from launch to exit. There was nothing I could do but give myself over to fate.
I use this method often in my life. This is how I talk myself into getting on airplanes, meeting new people, and other such adventures. I close my eyes and embrace the fact that I am helplessness to the outcome. I chant to myself, “What will be, will be,” because knowing the helplessness of my own individual person has always been something I understand all too well.
I suppose closing one’s eyes and embracing fate is all any of us can do, isn’t it? There is something comfortable about going within, reminding myself “I’ve had a good run,” and giving over to the inevitable, to all that which I cannot control.
This is what I think about when I hand him the keys, and the only way I can bring myself to say, “Yes, you can drive.”
Leonardo Magazine 