The last thing I remember before my very first roller coaster ride is turning to my friend while the bored ride operator strapped us in and and asking her, "What if I fall out?" Up until that moment, I'd been effective in hiding just how anxious I was about the ride. I'm absolutely terrified of heights and I had just read dozens of news articles the night before about malfunctioning park rides; not one of my smartest night-time reading ideas. For 19 years, I'd avoided roller coasters with a careful precision. I weaseled my way out of a trip to King's Dominion as a kid and I'd even turned down numerous invitations to amusement parks that I'd been offered over the years by friends. In October 2017, I decided that I had practiced the art of avoidance for long enough. It was time to face my fear. I mean, children ride roller coasters so I could, too, right?
At least, that's what I thought. I passed out about 15 seconds into the ride. I had an okay time up until then, though.
That's not how it was supposed to go, I thought, as I stumbled from my seat at the end of the ride and attempted to remember what way was up. I was supposed to scream in pure joy the entire time. I was supposed to be disappointed when I saw that the ride was almost over and immediately run to the back of the line to experience it all over again. Facing my fear took so much courage; it should've went perfectly. But it didn't. And I shouldn't have expected it to.
It all comes down to idealism. As an extremely idealistic person, I often expect my life to follow the structure of a three-act movie: discovering and undertaking my journey, defeating the villain, then finally basking in the glory of victory until I'm ready to tackle the next mission. Despite how much I wish it were true, this is far from how life works.
When we're addressing parts of ourselves that we wish to improve, whether that be a prolonged fear of roller coasters, or a personally inconvenient tendency toward shyness, it's easy to forget that improvement is a process. Humans are creatures of habit and rarely can a habit be broken in a day. Riding a roller coaster is a personal feat that I'm so glad I accomplished but I'm still anxious at the thought of riding another one. And that's okay. Life isn't a movie. It takes longer than 90 minutes to see ourselves as the person we want to be. The fact is, though, that I'm less anxious about roller coasters than I was before my first roller coaster ride. My fear isn't gone, but it doesn't affect my want to have fun and spend time with friends like it used to.
So the next time that you're frustrated because you're not moving along as fast as you hoped you would, take the time to reflect. Are you better than you used to be? Are you even an inch closer to where you want to be? Than you're not wasting your time. Keep going.
