Jonathan Meyer.

I didn’t like rollercoasters when I was little.

That feels like a strange thing to admit now, especially considering how much I enjoy them today, but for a long time I was perfectly content staying on the ground. I remember trips to Adventureland where my dad and sister would disappear into long lines for the biggest, loudest rides in the park, while I stayed behind with my mom. We’d sit on a bench and usually eat something delicious and overpriced. We’d watch all the people scream past us and wait patiently for the rest of the family to return. As I would sit there, I always thought, Why willingly strap yourself into something designed to make your stomach drop?

Staying on the ground felt much more reasonable to me!

Years later, sometime in middle school, I found myself having a surprisingly deep conversation on the bus after school. It’s funny how some of the most memorable philosophical moments happen when you least expect them – on cracked vinyl seats, bouncing over gravel roads, surrounded by backpacks and half-finished homework. Two tween-agers, neither of us experts on life by any stretch, somehow landed on the idea that life is a rollercoaster.

The logic made perfect sense to us. The highs are usually followed by lows. The safest part of the ride is the flat stretch – when nothing dramatic is happening – but those moments aren’t what you remember. The climbs make your heart race. The drops take your breath away. They’re terrifying and thrilling at the same time. That conversation has stuck with me more than most things that happened in middle school did.

As I’ve gotten older, that way of looking at life has been a simple guide for me. When things are going well, I enjoy it and try to remember that change is inevitable. When things feel bleak or uncertain, I remind myself that no ride lasts forever. There’s comfort in knowing that the ups and downs are part of the same track.

Somewhere along the way, I started liking rollercoasters – actual ones, not just the metaphorical kind. In fact, I’ve reached the point where I planned a weekend getaway around the opportunity to explore a new amusement park. That feels like growth worth noting! The turning point, if I’m being honest, came in eighth grade, when a girl I liked wanted me to ride a rollercoaster with her.

Now, peer pressure isn’t always a great thing. But occasionally, it nudges you in a direction you didn’t realize you were ready for. I got on the ride, scared out of my mind, but made it through, and stepped off thinking, that wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was kind of fun. That moment didn’t magically make me fearless, but it did teach me something important: sometimes the anticipation is worse than the experience itself.

Life has a funny way of working like that. We spend so much time bracing ourselves for the drop that we forget to look around on the climb. We convince ourselves that staying still is the safest option, even when staying still means missing out. And yet, if you never leave the bench, you never really get the full picture of the park.

These days, I still appreciate the flat parts of life – the routines, the quiet mornings, the stretches where nothing particularly dramatic is happening. Those moments matter. They give you time to breathe, to reflect, and to recover. But I’ve also learned not to resent the climbs or fear the drops quite as much as I used to. They’re uncomfortable, sure, but they’re also where growth tends to happen.

So whether it’s coincidence or not, I’ve come to believe that recognizing life as a rollercoaster is just another tool to keep in your ever-growing toolbag. It doesn’t stop the ride from being scary at times, but it does remind you that every twist and turn has a purpose. You won’t love every part of the track – but you’ll probably look back and be glad you stayed on for the whole ride.

While we all ride the rollercoaster of life, I’m Just Jonathan.