I used to love spinning when I was a kid.
No, I’m not talking about that crazy stationary bike class that my girlfriends take at their respective gyms. I’m talking about the reckless abandon of spreading your arms out as wide as they will go, staring up at the clouds or stars and moving your little feet as fast as they would go. The world slowly became a blur, yet the sky had a beautiful stillness as you felt the wind sweep over your face. If I had my way, I think I would have taken up residence in a quiet field somewhere just escaping my life to exist in my own thoughts.
I was talking to a friend at lunch last week, and she reminded me of this feeling as we caught up on our rather chaotic lives. One of my BFF-iest of BFF’s, we barely have time to see each other for an hour to have lunch. Whenever I’m free she’s busy and whenever I’m busy she’s…well…you get the point. Apparently this is how I live my life. Arms wide open, staring at a point in the sky, spinning and spinning and spinning.
Somewhere between the pigtails in my backyard and the French Twist in the boardroom, I adapted the art of spinning into adulthood. It has gotten to the point where I don’t even know how to go through the motions unless the motions are spinning. Like those days when I was young, sometimes it feels like I’m spinning out of control. Most days I feel like the only thing I have any control over is the spinning.
I know the dangers of spinning. No one can get close to you when you are a swirl of hair and arms. You get a completely distorted view of realities as your balance gets mish-moshed somehow in your brain. Your arms get tired, your eyes start tearing from all the air hitting them, you risk collapsing in an exhausted and disoriented heap on the ground.
That last part (exhausted and disoriented heap) is the thing that keeps me spinning. It’s what I fear the most. That feeling of complete loss of control when suddenly you try to stop the spinning. You shake and blink and try to gain some sort of footing. Even though you aren’t moving the rest of the world is now a blur flying around you. I used to convince myself I was actually feeling the Earth revolve or spin on it’s own axis. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I couldn’t hold it.
I’m terrified of what life will be like if I’m not staring up into the darkness of a night sky at the stars, spinning to my little heart’s content. I know spinning isn’t always good for me. But I’m too scared to stop.
Elisa: I love this post. Not just the writing, though that is beautiful in and of itself, but the message that you convey that truly speaks to me.
"That feeling of complete loss of control when suddenly you try to stop the spinning…The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I couldn't hold it."
This says it all, speaks to exactly where I am now, sharing that same fear, wondering if I will crumble beneath the weight.
I think the only thing maybe we can do is stop spinning, despite that fear. It'll be shaky ground for awhile, but then you always regain your footing, the dizziness subsides, and you figure out how to move again…more slowly, maybe, but still moving.
A wonderful post, Elisa! Thanks for sharing this and best to you.
This is such a great description about growing up. I really enjoyed reading it because it reminded me of the swirling messy heaps of arms and hair I am (and will continue to be).Thanks for sharing this!
I recently stumbled across your blog from another blog and really enjoyed this post. It is beautifully written and I love the description of someone not being able to get close to spinning hair and hands.