The Olympics are over and I didn’t actually watch them. But one story I followed from those few weeks was the story of the gymnast experience of the twisties.
I hadn’t known that was a thing. But of course it was a thing. Divers can become confused about which way is up and which way is down. I’d experience that myself once in the ocean when a wave knocked me off my feet.
I’ve gotten turned around in a housing development where the houses looked all alike and the streets had names like Mockingbird Circle and Mockingbird Lane and Mockingbird Avenue.
I’ve spun around in circles while looking up at the sky until I fell down.
I’ve thought about a decision so obsessively I’ve lost ability to decide anything.
I’ve been drunk enough to not know what was happening or how I felt about it.
The twisties seem like a part of life whether of not you’re a gymnast. (Obviously some of these are more dangerous than others.)
And people either understand and let you work to gain clarity, or they don’t. (Get rid of the ones that don’t.)
As a writer I get lost in my plots. Was I taking the story this way or that way? Am I going in the right direction? Will I stick the ending? What’s happening here?
In these post-trumpian-sort-of/pandemic/Afghanistan-collapsing/climate changing times, isn’t the world in a twist?
Which way are we going? How far are we from landing?
If only we could step away from the arena and find our bearings.
But we are still up in the air, twisting and twisting.
Where’s the ground?
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