Status: Complete
My Personal Neverland
Experience
When I first laid eyes on it, I knew it was something extraordinary. I was just a kid, barely six years old, but I could tell there was something special about the big wheel. Its height so great that I was forced to tilt my head as far back as possible just to gawk at its entirety. Other than its vastness, it wasn’t very menacing. The wheel rotated at a considerably slow speed, if I had to guess, I’d say at about five miles per hour.
One ride and I was hooked. The moment at the top of the Ferris wheel is what did me in. Those brief minutes when I feel completely at peace. The world stops spinning, time freezes indefinitely, there’s nothing, nothing but the Ferris wheel and me. It’s magic.
Seated in the old, rickety booth is when I feel the safest. Ignorant of the fact that the only thing suspending me in the air is a bit of rusty iron, I feel more secure than I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s magic.
Perched at the highest point of the ride, I love to stare down into the sea of lights and movement. I pretend I’m a bird in flight. I have the best view of everything, a bird’s eye view. Everything looks infinitely smaller, which gives me the chance to feel significant. I can make believe that I’m anyone or anything I want to be. At the peak of the Ferris wheel, everything is made possible. It’s magic.
Nothing can bring me down. I’m confident and comfortable with who I am. I imagine numerous things, things that, if imagined anywhere other than my spot on the wheel, would be thought of as impossible. However, when at the summit of the Ferris wheel, the word ‘impossible’ ceases to exist. It’s as if the word has been erased from its position between the definitions of ‘imposition’ and ‘impost’ in the Webster’s Dictionary, and along with it, its noun form ‘impossibility’. The meaning is removed from my mind, allowing me limitless possibilities; the sky is no longer the limit. It’s magic.
At the top of the Ferris wheel, in my reserved seat, I return to my youth. I’m stuck in time, never aging past my childhood, forever remaining the young age of six. The innocence of a child floods over me, seeping in through my pores, overshadowing all the bad I’ve acquired over the years. I’ve become a kid all over again, like clockwork. It’s magic.
Every time I get on the Ferris wheel I step off new, but I’m the same age I was before I got on the ride. The effects always wear off once I leave my seat on the big wheel. No magic.
The instant my foot touches back down to Earth, I do as well. ‘Impossible’ returns to the dictionary, right under its noun definition of ‘impossibility’. The pressures of the world swarm me and I’m thrown back into reality. No magic.
I can’t fathom exactly how I feel when experiencing my moment on the Ferris wheel. I don’t know if any amount of words could ever describe the importance a Ferris wheel holds for me. In comparison, a Ferris wheel is my equivalent to Neverland. I can remain a kid, never facing the fears of adulthood, yet never experiencing the privileges that come with being an adult. My own personal Neverland at the top of the Ferris wheel. The only glitch is that I always come back grown up. I leave, but the magic stays on the Ferris wheel, waiting for my next visit.
One ride and I was hooked. The moment at the top of the Ferris wheel is what did me in. Those brief minutes when I feel completely at peace. The world stops spinning, time freezes indefinitely, there’s nothing, nothing but the Ferris wheel and me. It’s magic.
Seated in the old, rickety booth is when I feel the safest. Ignorant of the fact that the only thing suspending me in the air is a bit of rusty iron, I feel more secure than I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s magic.
Perched at the highest point of the ride, I love to stare down into the sea of lights and movement. I pretend I’m a bird in flight. I have the best view of everything, a bird’s eye view. Everything looks infinitely smaller, which gives me the chance to feel significant. I can make believe that I’m anyone or anything I want to be. At the peak of the Ferris wheel, everything is made possible. It’s magic.
Nothing can bring me down. I’m confident and comfortable with who I am. I imagine numerous things, things that, if imagined anywhere other than my spot on the wheel, would be thought of as impossible. However, when at the summit of the Ferris wheel, the word ‘impossible’ ceases to exist. It’s as if the word has been erased from its position between the definitions of ‘imposition’ and ‘impost’ in the Webster’s Dictionary, and along with it, its noun form ‘impossibility’. The meaning is removed from my mind, allowing me limitless possibilities; the sky is no longer the limit. It’s magic.
At the top of the Ferris wheel, in my reserved seat, I return to my youth. I’m stuck in time, never aging past my childhood, forever remaining the young age of six. The innocence of a child floods over me, seeping in through my pores, overshadowing all the bad I’ve acquired over the years. I’ve become a kid all over again, like clockwork. It’s magic.
Every time I get on the Ferris wheel I step off new, but I’m the same age I was before I got on the ride. The effects always wear off once I leave my seat on the big wheel. No magic.
The instant my foot touches back down to Earth, I do as well. ‘Impossible’ returns to the dictionary, right under its noun definition of ‘impossibility’. The pressures of the world swarm me and I’m thrown back into reality. No magic.
I can’t fathom exactly how I feel when experiencing my moment on the Ferris wheel. I don’t know if any amount of words could ever describe the importance a Ferris wheel holds for me. In comparison, a Ferris wheel is my equivalent to Neverland. I can remain a kid, never facing the fears of adulthood, yet never experiencing the privileges that come with being an adult. My own personal Neverland at the top of the Ferris wheel. The only glitch is that I always come back grown up. I leave, but the magic stays on the Ferris wheel, waiting for my next visit.