This weekend, I rode a sit and spin.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, J., you're a grown woman. You have no business riding a sit and spin.
Well, I have a confession to make: I also ride shopping carts as
if they were scooters. (You know, hop on the back with one foot, push
off with the other until you get up speed, and then WHOOSH! there you go
careening down the aisles, or through the parking lot.) So relatively
speaking, a sit and spin is probably a lot safer for everyone.
There's something to be said for channeling your inner kid. Your uninhibited joyful self. The side of you that doesn't care what other people think, that gets dizzy for the fun of it. As I removed the nail polish from my son's fingers this morning (he had painted them in alternating silver and gold this weekend), I felt a pang of sadness for him; he'd been informed by his fellow campers yesterday that he must be a girl because he was wearing nail polish, and so he had grudgingly asked me to take it off. I remembered his smile as the polish dried, how he waved his fingers around and watched them sparkle in the sun. And I wished that kids wouldn't start making judgements about behavior so early, at least, about the kind of behavior that isn't hurtful or destructive. Because those judgements about harmless expressions of joy turn into the kinds of inhibitions that prevent us from mounting the sit and spin.
What does your inner kid do when no one is looking? Or even when they are?