I know this place—so do you. 

It’s the moment—a split-second—right before you jump off the still spinning carousel.

Wobbly, maybe nauseous, you made it down off that high wooden horse without help—which felt like a major feat—now where are they? You look out at the blurring people. You can’t see them. You stand on the spinning edge. Anxious, waiting for help. Where are they? The ticket man is coming to collect tickets from the newcomers. He won’t allow you on a second longer. Your ride is over.

You finally realize: They are not coming. You are alone. You must jump off soon—like now. Panic rises. Where are they? You keep hoping. You want help. You need help.  

But no one is coming to grab you up and gobble your fear. You must own it yourself.

You are 4. Maybe 5. You’ve got to figure this out all alone. Sweat drips into your eyes, steaming your tears, fogging the crowd beyond you.

You stand still as stone on the rim of the moving carousel. Why won’t it stop? You take a deep breath. The familiar smell of popcorn startles you.

You look down one last time at the swirling earth. You shut your eyes hard—and jump!

Amazingly, you land open-eyed, square on your feet. You start to run immediately in the right direction. You wipe the sweat from your face as if it’s just another summer day. You’re jubilant.

You see them now. Your father hands you cotton-candy. You take it, laughing.

That moment—that split-second of paralyzing fear—has passed, all forgotten, as if lived eons ago.

For now, “I did it!” explains everything.

And later, you remember: The magic within the unknown had welcomed you. You discovered a new place. A place of not-knowing and know-how—both.

You will return here many times, as you grow—because you grow.

I know this place—so do you.

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Copyright, Gloria DeGaetano, 2021. All rights reserved.