“What do you mean you’ve never been on a Ferris wheel?” the stranger asked with a bemused smile, his cowboy hat tilted just enough to signal he wasn’t from around here.
We were standing on the windswept main street of Ouray, Colorado, where summer tourists milled about with ice cream cones and sunscreen-smudged faces. I was twenty-four, working yet another seasonal job giving historical walking tours of old mining towns, part guide, part storyteller, and—I’ll admit it—part accidental therapist to weary travelers who seemed to think “local” equaled “tell me your life story.” That’s how I met him. He was just another guy passing through, killing time before dinner with his parents. Or so I thought.
“What’s the big deal?” I replied. “Isn’t it just a moving circle? Like laundry, except with more screaming?”
If I’d known that one sarcastic comment would lead to one of the most unexpected lessons of my life, I might’ve been more careful. But we rarely know when strangers are about to waltz into our lives, adjust something deep in our perspectives, and leave. That’s part of the magic.
Little Did I Know
We ended up talking for longer than I expected. I learned his name was Nate, he grew up in Kansas, and he thought the sunsets in Colorado were the only sunsets worth photographing. He called it “golden hour squared.” A meteorology major (of all things), he was fascinated by storms, patterns, and how people misread them—meteorologically and metaphorically.
And while we stood there, watching the light fade behind the peaks, Nate asked, “Ever wonder why some people can find connection so easily, but others put up walls so high it’d take an act of Congress to knock ‘em down?”
I flinched. Naturally, I laughed it off. “Some people need boundaries, Nate. Not every connection’s worth the climb.”
He squinted at me, that look people get right before dismantling your carefully constructed excuses. “You ever think boundaries and barriers aren’t the same thing? Maybe you’ve got the gates locked so tight, you wouldn’t notice something good even if it was waving at you from the other side.”
Ouch. Called out by a guy I’d known for all of 15 minutes.
A Ticket to Vulnerability
This is where the Ferris wheel came in. Somewhere during our wandering conversation, Nate discovered my bizarre avoidance of amusement rides. Growing up on a ranch, the idea of spinning in the air just felt… unnecessary. What could a clunky steel machine offer that my horse couldn’t? Besides, who wanted to sit suspended miles above the ground with someone breathing too loudly beside them?
But Nate wasn’t buying it. He claimed the Ferris wheel wasn’t about the ride itself—it was about trust. Trusting a stranger to operate the machinery. Trusting your seatmate not to rock the gondola just to scare you. Trusting that if you let go of the rail for one second, the Earth wouldn’t just heave you off into space.
“Sound familiar?” Nate asked, eyebrows raised. And though I didn’t say it, it did. Relationships. Dating. Letting people in when you’re used to standing firmly on the ground where it’s safe. Was I the human equivalent of a shutdown carnival ride? Maybe.
Ferris Wheels and First Dates
I didn’t ride the Ferris wheel with Nate that night. He left town the next morning, leaving a polite thank-you text and an open-loop question in my brain. Yet what stuck with me wasn’t just the metaphor—it was how deeply right he’d been.
Turns out, Nate had unknowingly cracked open something inside me that evening. I wasn’t just “too busy” or “not interested” in new connections as I’d claimed during our chat. I was frozen in a kind of fear disguised as independence.
And the truth is, this happens to a lot of us. We’re quick to build barriers when life gets bumpy, pointing to past heartbreaks, awkward dates, or mismatched expectations. We tell ourselves that if the Ferris wheel never goes up, it can’t crash back down. But in doing so, we miss the moments when letting someone in might be worth the risk.
Nate’s Three Key Lessons (Ferris Wheel Optional)
Somewhere between the lines of a passing conversation, Nate managed to shift my thinking on connection, and I’m sharing these takeaways because, well, why keep all the hard-earned wisdom for myself?
-
Don’t Mistake Barriers for Boundaries
Barriers block everything; boundaries let in the good stuff while guarding against the bad. If you’ve convinced yourself you’re “protecting your peace” by building walls so high the moon envies them, it might be time for some self-reflection. -
Start Small with Trust
You don’t have to skip straight to the high-stakes emotional rollercoasters. Trust begins in the smaller moments: allowing someone to join in your messy, weather-worn life and seeing what they do with it. Maybe they’ll surprise you. -
Remember, It’s a Leap That Loops
Like that moment the Ferris wheel gondola rocks forward before completing its circle, being vulnerable doesn’t mean endless free fall. There’s rhythm and balance to even the most openhearted risks. It’s all about teaching yourself to get through the highs, lows, and everything in between.
What Happened Next?
If you’re waiting for me to say I changed overnight or chased Nate to Kansas in a dramatic rom-com sprint down an airport terminal, let me save you the suspense. I didn’t. What I did do, however, was start thinking about what the Ferris wheel—or the absence of it—represented in my life.
So far, I’ve learned to loosen my grip. Literally. If you’re wondering, yes, I eventually rode a Ferris wheel with someone special, years after I met Nate. And while I kept one sweaty palm on the rail most of the time, I also managed to let go long enough to appreciate the view.
Because that’s the thing about strangers. Some of them stick around; most don’t. But every now and then, the ones who cross our paths can hand us a mirror, a map, or a metaphor we never knew we needed.
And when they’re gone, you’re left a little braver. Maybe even ready for the ride ahead.
