Swinging

I am back home for spring break and I went to Farnsworth Park, which is a 10 minute walk from my house. I decided to go on the swings. I watched little kids play and parents act like they were having a blast. 

I can’t wait to be a mom. This might seem like a strange statement to say when I am an 18 year old in college. But I’ve felt this way since I was a child. 

I remember being a four year old and wanting to hang out with my mom’s friends because I wanted to push the stroller and smell their sweat after they ran the Rose Bowl. 

I remember wanting to read to my brother, carry him around, and prepare him meals for as long as I could because it brought me so much joy. 

I remember getting older, finally holding my baby cousin and loving the touch of soft baby skin. 

I remember coaching my little gymnastics students this summer. I admittedly had my favorites who I let hold my hand and who I would pick up at lunch time and carry on my hip (“mom stance”). 

I’ve felt it in my soul-maybe not as my purpose, but definitely an integral part of me, that will eventually become. 

As I swung back and forth I remembered the OCS day trips we used to take to Loma Alta, until middle school. We would climb on the rock structures and watch as the boys jumped down from heights much to high, we would eat watermelon and weird gluten free OCS snacks the moms would bring, we would swing so high on the swings the wood chips below would stick to our hands as we fell, we would swing back and forth on the dragon boat and pretend we were pirates, we would whisper who we liked and run away from our crushes, we would get sour skittles and turbos from the vending machine because the gluten free snacks really did suck. I loved those days. 

Swings are great. 

What makes swings so great? Is it the sense of flying? The jump off at the end? The force of your legs rocking back and forth? The meditative act of going up and down? 

Maybe all of the above. 

Anyways that’s what I thought about today as I swung on a swing.