My husband and I celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary this past weekend. While we did go out and enjoy a lovely, elegant dinner at Lumiere, the true spirit of how we celebrated was heading out to Six Flags to ride roller coasters on Sunday.
Without our teenagers.
(For the record, they were both invited to come with, and to bring friends. Both declined.)
Yes, two grown ups (or so we're told) went to scream, laugh, and eat junk food at a theme park.
I adore coasters. The old wooden once, the twirly ones, the ones that spin you upside down, the ones that do huge vertical drops. You name it, I'll ride it. Now, mind you, they also scare the hell out of me. Me and heights don't really get along very well.
But I still stand in line, strap myself in, and revel in the exhilaration/fear in the pit of my belly as the car starts to fall.
People who know me in real life know that I am not really a thrill seeker. I'm not much of a spontaneous person, and I certainly don't have a death wish. Yet, I have always loved riding roller coasters.
I think it's a good metaphor for living fully. This life is an unpredictable ride. The best you can do is strap yourself in, sit next to someone who will hold your hand, and go for it.
Who wants to ride Batman with me??
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