The Waiting is the Hardest Part (or The Fear is in the Anticipation)

We recently had the opportunity to join some beloved family members at Six Flags for the day. Given that we have three boys who jump at any whiff of adventure, we trekked over to what used to be called Magic Mountain (now Six Flags California) for a day of fun.

One ride, in particular, caught my attention:

It’s the new version of Freefall – redone from the days of my youth to be four times taller, and a million times more thrilling.

The old ride sat you down in a white cage, bringing you up on the inside of a 100-foot tower, elevator-style. It would then move your cage to the outside of the tower, pause a few seconds, and then drop straight down.

We used to enjoy putting coins on our knees, watching them “float” in the air during our descent. As I’m older, I think the coin trick was merely a subconscious ruse to distract us from the horror of looking out at the potential danger around (and below) us. 

But it was one of my favorite rides growing up, so when I had the chance to do the new Drop of Doom, I went for it.

This modified version, however, brings you up on the outside of the tower, so you get full view of the shrinking ground below you during the entire ascent.

Your feet dangle freely beneath you; the cage of the old version has been replaced with “very secure” seats, which means you’ve got nothing between your feet and the ground 415 feet below.

Yep – the tower takes you 40 stories high before it releases you straight down. If you’re in to physics, you could have some serious fun calculating the gravitational acceleration of this puppy.

Here’s what I learned about myself on this ride: The anticipation was utterly terrifying. 

The second we started moving upward, everything in me wanted to break free of the shoulder straps and jump. Subconsciously, I clearly preferred my chances of survival jumping from 30 feet rather than being taken up, harness and all, to the 415 foot apex. 

Since leaping wasn’t really an option, I literally took to deep-breathing exercises so that I wouldn’t have a major panic on the “ascent from hell”.

It only got worse the higher we climbed. Time seemed to stand still as we slowly continued upward. I was too scared to look up, too terrified to look down, so I just looked straight ahead, heart pounding fiercely, for what seemed like an eternity. 

For a very small moment, I allowed myself to capture the sunset over the faraway hills, as viewed high from the side of the tower. I knew the view was a gift – that everyone else in the park wasn’t able to see the view the way I was allowed to see it in that moment.

And then the tower released.

Now – once we actually started falling, that was the fun part.

After all, the reason I stood in line was for the fall. You get the thrill of feeling weightless for a few seconds. You fall so fast you literally are unable to scream.

It’s good old-fashioned fun, as far as I’m concerned. 

Here’s what I realized:

That ride is a heck of a lot like life.

We have adventures before us – thrill rides that take our breath away. But some of us never strap in due to the fear of the unknown. Others of us (this would be me) freak out and try to get off the ride before we get to enjoy the fun part. 

It’s not the drop that’s the problem.

It’s the fear associated with the ascent.

How many of us miss out due to fear? 

How much of life do we miss out on because we’re stuck in the anticipation stage, mitigating our own sense of panic rather than enjoying the view from up high?

Even with the scary and unpleasant things that life throws our way, how often does our mind sabotage the situation, building up the dread beforehand, only to find that the experience itself, although difficult, isn’t as bad as we had feared it to be.

Is it a challenge at work? A difficult conversation with a loved one? A reconciliation with a friend? The murky unknown of an upcoming life change?

I’m guessing the fear of the ascent is worse than the freefall.

So keep your head up, look for the gift in the view from up high, and hang on for dear life.

Because life has you already strapped in, and there’s a thrill ride to be enjoyed…