The Joy Ride

This came to me during a quiet moment—one of those glimpses behind the curtain. Not quite a dream, not quite a memory, but something in between. All I know is, it felt true, touching, moving, and inspiring, so I’ll share.

With a swooshy, clanking sound, the cars screeched to a jolting stop at the platform. My hair was wind-whipped, my heart still thumping, and my senses somewhere between “whee!” and “WTF just happened?” The platform was teeming with faces—wide-eyed, weary-eyed, childlike, ancient, amused, stunned. Expressions of every sort, every shade, every story. And just as I was climbing up and out of my very front row seat (because of course I insisted on the front), there she was. Grandma. Beaming. Blushing. Electric with delight. Making her way toward me through the happy throng.

“Well?” she called out, eyes twinkling like galaxies. “How was your ride? How’d you make out this trip?”

I could barely speak. Dazed in the best possible way. A little wobbly on my legs, still tingling with adrenaline, face flushed with wonder and thrill. “That was amazing,” I finally gasped. “Truly! I can’t believe it went so fast! I blinked and it was over!” I was already grinning like a lunatic. “Let’s go again. Please. Can we go again? This time together?”

“Of course, of course, dear,” she said, taking my arm like we were old partners in a dance. “You may want to sit out a couple rounds first. You know… process and review, plan and discern? Or maybe not?” She tilted her head, reading me like only a cosmic grandmother can. “You always did like to leap before you looked.” I laughed. She wasn’t wrong.

“There are other planets to choose from, you know,” she added, almost casually, like she was pointing out cafés on a travel brochure. “Maybe next time you’ll pick something a bit more gentle? A smidge more enlightened? Or kind? Or slow and syrupy sweet? The menu’s pretty mind-blowing, really. Infinite flavors. Infinite loops.”

I stood still there on the platform, anchoring to her presence like it was gravity itself. Hazel, that’s what she’s called here, I think. Hazel, so young and radiant, with the green velvet eyes and the patience of saints. I reached for her hand and squeezed. “Where am I, exactly?” I asked. “Dead? Limbo? Processing Bay C on Level 3?” She just chuckled. “Does it matter?” And, of course, it didn’t.

What took six-plus decades in Earth time—every excruciating detour, every heartbreak, every absurd plot twist—took only minutes here. Just a quick lap around the track. One wild ride in a timeless theme park where laughter echoes forever and regret dissolves faster than cotton candy in your mouth. This—this—must be the space between. The Great Pause. The Zone of Knowing. Or maybe just The Safe Place, where the seatbelt’s off and the ride photos are developing and you finally get to breathe.

The car I’d just occupied was already refilled, new riders buckled in, pulling down the bars with anticipation or anxiety or both. It was about to depart, and I just stared—awestruck, grateful, humbled to my cosmic core. And right then and there, I made a vow.

Next time I will request, a touch more awareness going in. Not a full spoiler-alert briefing. Not a safety video or pre-trip PowerPoint. Just a flicker. A flash. A teeny whisper in my soul’s ear: “Hey, this is a JOY ride. Remember?” I’m pretty sure I asked for that last time too. And no, I’m not looking to be the next Einstein or Gandhi or Dalai Lama. Just maybe a smidge more core-level bliss and trust. A little more arms-up, a little less white-knuckle grip.

I have no idea where or why this entire scene came into my wee little brain. It isn’t a “lesson” per se, it’s just an idea. A thought. A moment to step back or up or out and to consider a possible alternate reality, one where maybe—just maybe—I get to enjoy the ride a little more and take myself a bit less seriously. You are welcome to join me, if you want to, of course, only if you choose. For myself, no regrets, no shame spirals, no “oops, did it wrong.” Just a gentle whisper, “Humm. That went fast. Maybe I’ll remember to look around more next time. Maybe I’ll yell WHEEEE even if I’m not totally feeling it. Maybe I’ll laugh at the loops instead of bracing for them.”

Because here’s something I am pretty sure of: I’m OK. I’ve always been OK. I always will be OK, no matter what. Even on the ride when it doesn’t feel that way. Even when it’s upside down, backwards, squealing and smells like fear and burnt popcorn. Because this whole Earth trip? Just a side-show roller coaster—not even close to the main attraction in THE MULTIVERSE. And the only slightly cruel twist is the forgetting of that other bit… What was it again? Oh, right: I’m safe and loved. Cherished. And perfectly OK - NO MATTER WHAT!

So next time? I’ll try to remember. I’ll try to laugh earlier, breathe deeper, and scream with joy even when the bar locks down a little too tight. I’ll try to notice the sky more and maybe trust that even the rattle-trap cars are heading somewhere good. And if not? Well, I’ll catch Grandma at the end of the line and we’ll just ride again. Maybe with more one-on-one time together next round.

So here’s to the JOY ride. And here’s to us, brave and bumbling and brilliant as ever.
​Eyes open. Heart soft. Hands high.

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