When I was a kid, Geauga Lake Amusement Park was a little slice of heaven. It had coasters, live entertainment, and games of chance. It was about an hour drive and as the ferris wheel and roller coaster came into view, our excitement spiked. It was our one and only fun thing of the year!
Why just once a year? Because the company my father worked for paid for the tickets. Otherwise, I doubt that Dad would have sprung for it.
I was an ignorant little dope and didn’t realize how puny and sad it was as far as amusement parks, especially considering Cedar Point was just a little bit farther away in the opposite direction from our house near Cleveland. But we loved it the way you might love your neighborhood bar, even if it’s a dive, because it’s your bar.
I was also terrified of at least half the rides at Geauga Lake. There was a huge slide that demanded burlap bags under your butt, and I worried about burns on my bare skin. There was a rolling barrel inside the fun house, but I wouldn’t dare step inside despite seeing my brothers easily run through it. And The Big Dipper, their roller coaster, was as daunting—to me—as climbing Mount Everest.
Of course, as far as roller coasters go, The Big Dipper was a big nothing for anyone who enjoyed roller coasters. Most of the thrill on that old, rickety, noisy coaster was the fear that it might collapse in a pile of rotten wood at any moment.
Our father was baffled by this fear, and possibly questioned my paternity, as he had been a jet pilot and surely the fruit of his loins couldn’t be afraid of something as simple as a crappy roller coaster at a second-rate amusement park.
The year that my older brother finally rode it, accompanied by our father, my brother panicked at the crest of the first hill, and cried out for our mother. My father laughed and said, “She can’t help you anymore so you may as well enjoy the ride.”
The following year, when our father couldn’t stand my cowardice any longer and dragged me onto the coaster for my first ride, I basically cried and screamed as we climbed that first hill. He said, “Quit your bawling and look around or you’ll miss it.”
A few weeks ago, my wife and I took a river boat cruise up the Danube. I’d been resisting this trip for years, riddled with ridiculous fears.
I worried about things like:
- Who would watch the dogs?
- What if we aren’t allowed back into the country for some of the things I wrote in the Picayune?
- What if I have to pee but don’t have a Euro for the latrine?
- What if one of us dies over there?
We planned the trip with friends who were seasoned travelers, and I’m sure they were as baffled by my irrational fears as my father was with me.
At one point, Leon (the friend) said, “Once you’re there, you have nothing to worry about.”
I didn’t get it at the time but, once we arrived in Hungary, I realized how right he was. We were so far away from home, and out of synch with the time zone, that we couldn’t really do anything if we wanted.
The words of my father, “She can’t help you anymore so you may as well enjoy the ride,” echoed in my mind. But, until I overcame the fear, it felt like one of those dreams where you plummet into an abyss.
That fear of fun, exciting, and ultimately different things has plagued me my entire life, and I’ve missed a quite few opportunities.
I’m pretty sure I have several fear-based blocks buried in my brain, somewhere between the limbic and sympathetic systems. I can name about a dozen moments when I could have taken a job, moved to another city, or faced a similar life-changing decision that left me paralyzed.
At the time, I couldn’t even express why I was afraid of it. I couldn’t even describe it as fear because my subconscious knew that admitting fear would mean someone could ask, “What’re you afraid of?”
My subconscious was protecting my psyche, and preventing me from having to explain the inexplicable. The moment passed me by, and life went on.
At this point, I can’t really regret how things turned out. I mean, what would be the point of regret now? (Or maybe my subconscious is making me say that to further protect my psyche?) But I am trying to overcome that deep, subconscious mechanism, that plague of fear, going forward.
I’ve seen it in just the past two weeks as a writers block on the new novel I’m writing. I write a few sentences here, maybe a scene there, but no real momentum.
I’ve done therapy before, and that helped. I’ve also done hypnosis, guided meditation, and journaling to try to deal with these things.
Of course, if I were a well-adjusted human, I probably wouldn’t be plagued by the compulsion to write.
What I probably need more than anything is for my father to drag me by the hand, kicking and screaming, and sit me down in the roller coaster car of life. He’s been gone a while, and I’m just going to have to keep trying to figure it out myself.
My friend’s father just died and it doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, losing a family member sucks. It’s something we all have to deal with at some point but that doesn’t make it any better. My condolences and heartfelt sympathy to my friend and all those grieving.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…
I don’t want to talk about this right now…
Maybe You’d Like
This week I’ve joined a group promo for free books called:
Free Fantasy & Science Fiction for May 2026 – so check it out!
https://storyoriginapp.com/to/ZdbiKSM
Next Picayune
I’ll be back in a couple of weeks with more stories and whatnot. Hug your friends and family until then…
All the best,
Mickey