I remember, and you may too, as a kid, how sometimes my friend and I would be in the gym at my church and we’d play that silly game where you spin around in circles and see who can last the longest. You start in one place, spread your arms out wide and just twirl until the ceiling, floor, and walls all become a topsy-turvy, indistinguishable blur. And you keep going up to the point that you feel yourself crashing down, your equilibrium about to give up and give in. And you collapse, dizzy and ditzy and as drunk feeling as you can be.
When I was younger I loved to spin. There was a funny freedom in being disoriented and having a blind trust in yourself and the solid ground beneath your feet that would be there when you decided it was finally time to stop, to lay down and let the world come back into focus. Growing up, though, I’ve realized that’s life. But unlike the safe walls of a church gym, life would like to get you caught up and dizzy and disoriented and have you come back into focus in a brand new place. With all new floor and walls and ceiling. All new points of view and people. It forces you to adapt. And there’s the fun and craziness and trust of just living, just spinning. But you have to be ready for it to stop. For the sudden shock of surroundings, of realizing who you and everyone else was before was just a swiftly moving tapestry of light and sound. Eventually,and from time to time, we all stop spinning.