I am not a fan of heights.

Roller coasters most often involve great heights.

Therefore…

When I was about twelve years old, I got to spend the day at Knott’s Berry Farm with my best friend, Michael.  My friend knew I was afraid of roller coasters, and he decided that this was the day for me to conquer my fear.  The roller coaster of choice at the park in those days was called Corkscrew, and Michael was determined to get me on that ride.  He spoke with all the eloquence his twelve-year-old self could muster about safety records and engineering and not being a wusmeister.

I didn’t want to be a wusmeister.  So I rode the ride.

Thanks, peer pressure.

We chose the very last car, so that I could see Mr. Death when he came for me.  Climbing into the seat, I knew I was in trouble.  There was a keep-you-from-running-for-your-life device (Michael called it a safety bar, but I knew better) that came down over my head and locked into position across my torso.  It made a clickey-clickey sound as it ratcheted into place.

I hate clickey-clickey sounds.

I also hated the fact that this safety bar, while crossing my chest, did not fully encapsulate my pencil-like frame.  With a wiggle, I could free either or both shoulders, even with the bar locked down a tightly as it would go.  I had a feeling that was not the way it as supposed to work, but I kind of liked having an escape hatch, should the need arise.

There was a cute roller coaster helper girl whose job, it seems, was to walk down the row of seats, checking safety bars and destroying confidence.  She was very good at her job.  As she reached me, she flashed a smile.  Now, this was the first summer I realized the magical difference between the smile of a pretty girl and that of your Uncle Frank, so I basked in the momentary glow.

She began to speak.  I was sure she would commend me for me for my great courage, and ask me to wear some token of her favor as I went off to battle Mr. Death.  Instead, she said something like, “You better hold on tight, kid.  You’re so skinny you might just fly right out of your seat.”

Thus quintupling my terror, undermining my incipient manhood, and planting deep within my heart self-image issues that continue to this day.

Thanks, Toots.

Apparently this girl also had the authority to send us hurtling to our demise, and she did so without a flicker of hesitation.

It began, tauntingly, with a slow climb straight up to a height of about three miles.  The entire time, the car made a clickey-clickey sound.

Did I mention that I hate that sound?

As we reached the apex of our death climb, I felt a compulsion to extricate myself from the safety bar and run to freedom.  My friend Michael tried to distract me by telling me to look around and enjoy the view from several thousand feet in the air.  “Look,” he said.  “You can see everything!”

Yeah…everything I had for breakfast.

Bowing again to the wusmeister pressure, I looked off to my left.  We were level with the roof of what must have been a world-class skyscraper.  I realized that if I could get out of my restraining device, I could leap to the building—it couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away—and save myself.

That’s how my mind works under such conditions.

I had one shoulder free when I noticed a person on the roof of the building.  I paused in my struggle for a moment to wonder what he was doing there…

And lost my chance to escape.

The coaster began its descent into madness.  You know how it goes from here.  I kept my eyes open—so Mr. Death couldn’t sneak up on me—and my cheeks clenched.  I gripped the safety bar for dear life—especially since I had one shoulder out of the harness.  My heart pounded with adrenalin, my throat erupted with screams, my bladder very nearly emptied, and when it was finally over…

We did it again.

O.K., so roller coaster=metaphor for life.  I’m sure you figured that out early on.  And I’m just as sure that you don’t need me to connect all the dots for you, because you’re just that savvy.  My readers—both of you—know how to pull the profound from the prosaic.

But if you will indulge me, I shall point out a few things…

The roller coaster was not a random amalgamation of wheels and wire.  It was carefully designed by someone who knew what he was doing.  Regardless of what my panicky brain told me, I was safe the entire time.

I wanted to get out of my safety harness at the precise time I needed it most.  If I had actually followed my plan, ignoring the Designer, it would have resulted in quite a mess for the park personnel.

I had no control over this ride.  There was no steering wheel.  There was no brake. Which was just as well, since everything was flying past at the speed of light.  Had I been able to control the coaster, I would have wrought havoc and pain.  All I could do was trust the Designer and obey directions.

Trust and obey.

What roller coaster are you on today?  May I be so bold as to suggest that you relax your need for control and trust the Designer?  And be prepared for the ride of your life.

Go ahead and clench your cheeks, but keep your eyes open.

You don’t want to miss a thing.