Beyond Dizzy, or Twirl ’til Ya Hurl
Sometime after I reached adulthood—probably about the time I entered my 30s—I lost the ability to enjoy one of my childhood’s greatest simple pleasures: spinning.
When I was a kid I loved to spin. I would wind up a swing until my toes couldn’t touch the ground anymore and then let go. Or I would just twirl until I couldn’t stay upright any longer. Amusement parks and midways were heavenly. Ride after ride of spinny-twirly-dizzy fun. The Scrambler, Haley’s Comet, The Zipper, the spinning tea cups…loved them all.
Then somewhere along the line my inner ears stopped cooperating, and even a quick turn could throw me off-balance and send me lurching sideways. Coordination has never been my strong suit, but add in some funked ears and my equilibrium goes south. Like, way south.
I now understand why some folks refer to the Haley’s Comet as the Vomit Comet.
Spinning is now so unpleasant to me that I can’t really remember what it felt like to like it. I clearly remember that I did. I remember that it had such appeal to me that I would seek it out and do it over and over. But I can’t remember the feeling in a way that I don’t associate it with collapsing on the ground with my eyes squeezed shut, moaning and holding onto the grass for dear life because the planet is obviously trying to buck me off.
It’s enough to kill any desire to go back to the days when spinning was joy.
And maybe that is best, since it’s cute when little kids spin for fun but somewhat more disturbing when adults do it.
I still wonder, however, if perhaps it wasn’t a slick bit of thievery that I didn’t catch until way late in the game.