Twirling around again and again until I was so dizzy I’d collapse into the crunchy leaves below me. That’s how I spent much of my playtime as a child. From rolling down hills to Duck…Duck…Goose, going in circles created a buzz of excitement for me and many a youngster, but I propose that the sensation of spinning shouldn’t be enjoyed exclusively by children.
Why? Because feeling dizzy makes me appreciate stability a bit more, just like getting the flu makes me feel like the healthiest person in town the first day of recovery. Intentionally going dizzy requires a tad of whimsy, a spacious area, safe from sharp edges or high cliffs and a pocket full of trust—trust that you will regain your equilibrium and maybe even appreciate it a bit more.
I don’t always walk in circles in a wide-open field and create a spectacle for all the people passing by, although the other day I did just that and I must say it felt amazingly liberating. My inner child giggled more from what people must’ve been thinking than from the tickling sensation created by the inertia.
Spinning across the dance floor also makes me woozy and the thrill from a roller coaster inversion is a rush that makes even one step on flat ground afterwards a balancing act. Meditating with eyes closed can, I’ve learned, also mimic that tossed-in-the-dryer effect.
Dizzy can be an addicting dance. It can lend a dreamlike state to the most mundane of days. Spinning into oblivion is like dunking your head into a fountain of “No Cares.” It helps me to stop thinking about whatever I’m tired of thinking about and forces me to trust in a soft landing.
It’s nice to accept the sensation of being out of control—to let the centrifugal force of the unknown wrap me in its arms, releasing me where it feels I belong. I want to find joy in that landing wherever that may be just like the famous trust therapy of falling into the arms of a group of total strangers.
I trust that since the Earth correctly calculates its orbital spinning within the galaxy that, so too, will it correctly deposit me into the exact situation that will best help me learn more about myself and explore the constellations of possibilities available to me.
Life itself is like a game of “Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” We spin on our axis, hoping to locate the sweet spot where we can stick our heart’s desire onto the smiling sun. Sometimes doing this blindly is the only option we have, sometimes we do this blindly by choice—just for the thrill of the adventure.
So, as I type these last few words by the fire pit where I’m relaxing with a friend and watching the flames snap this way and that in the wind, I wink at the moon, extremely glad, for once, to be the “Dizzy blonde,” delightfully dizzy on life.
Michele Zirkle Marcum is a native of Meigs County, author of “Rain No Evil” and host of Life Speaks on AIR radio.