Adrian Jimenez

“Tron” roller coaster at Magic Kingdom in Orlando

There’s something poetic about fear—it holds you back, sure, but it also pushes you to grow. I sat in the sidelines for years and let fear call the shots. However, the moment I chose to face it, everything changed.

Suddenly the front row wasn’t intimidating—it was exhilarating.

I used to gaze up at the huge plunges of roller coasters in fear; I’d tremble just at the thought of getting on one. I was the kid who would stand back while the rest got on. I was the kid who got out of the queue just before boarding, realizing he hadn’t overcome his fear yet again. 

My fear of roller coasters started when I was around four years old. I went on my first roller coaster when I went to Disney World. I had no idea what I was getting myself into since my dad told me as little as possible about the ride. So of course, he left out the part about the ride having the biggest drop of all the Disney coasters at the time and that it ran backwards. 

Needless to say, four year old me left traumatized.

For the longest time, the idea of a roller coaster tied a knot in my stomach. I knew perfectly well that nothing would ever happen to me but it was something I couldn’t control. As time passed I was able to ride some smaller coasters. I rode coasters like Space Mountain and the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad at Magic Kingdom and I had a lot of fun. The big coasters still gave me goosebumps though. I remember looking up at the nearly 170 foot drop of the Rip Ride Rockit in Universal Studios Orlando and being flooded with fear.

After a while, a mix of factors helped me with my fear, seeing the fun everyone had on these coasters, feeling like I was missing out and the realization that I was getting older and not taking advantage of the time I have. Before long the fear was gone and I couldn’t wait for the next time I went to an amusement park.

When I finally conquered my fear, I sat in the front row of a coaster and I braced myself for fright, but it never came. All I did was laugh and yell out of joy. The ride was not only fun; it was proof that fear can be overcome.

As I grew older, I realized my lesson of overcoming my fear was deeper than rollercoasters. We all have our “roller coasters” — the things that make our stomachs drop just thinking of them. For some, it’s public speaking. For others, it’s change, or failure or putting yourself out there. Mine just happened to involve actual loops and drops.

I’ve used this lesson of overcoming fear in other parts of my life too. Presenting became a lot easier too because I realized that at the end of the day, nothing would happen to me. If I mess up or if my presentation was boring, nobody would really care. I’m just enjoying the ride.

Still, the lesson was the same: fear doesn’t vanish overnight, and it doesn’t always make sense. But when you stand up to it, even in small steps, you start to reclaim the power it had on you.

Now, when I get in line for a really intense coaster like The Hulk and Velocicoaster, I think about how far I’ve come. I went from being on the sidelines to riding down drops with my hands in the air. 

That’s the thing about fear: when you push against it, you don’t just get through the moment, but you unlock parts of yourself you never knew you had.

Not everybody’s afraid of roller coasters, but everybody knows what it’s like to be afraid of something. So whatever your “ride” is, know that staying back may feel secure, but the front row is where the best view is.