Out of control (almost)

Last week, Rita and I hung a swing for Helena in the backyard.  Thanks to the height of the flamboyant tree (that's really its name, give because of the vibrant red flowers), she gets a long pendulum back and forth, and the higher she gets, the louder her shrieks of joy.  Not only is it great to watch, but it gives Rita's and my backs a break from carrying an increasingly heavy little girl, or bending down to help her to walk.

Helena's other favorite new activity is running downhill.  It can be down the ramp at a restaurant or store, down a trail, or even (with lots of help) down the stairs (we're trying to break her of this last game).  Almost like a skier after the lifts have closed, she will point her feet up the hill, demand that I help her walk up, and then turn downhill for the run.

What's the point of these games?  Why are they so much fun?  In fact, I might ask the same of some of my favorite sports -- skiing, rock climbing, now kitesurfing -- which just expand the sense of speed and movement that Helena enjoys.  Looking at her (and thinking of myself), I think the joy comes from just barely being in control, being just on the verge of too much.  Swinging isn't a passive activity for a little girl: Helena is actually using her balance to hold herself upright, and not to fall side to side.  If her weight shifts, she could go crashing into the orchids that embrace the tree.  And she loves the challenge of reaching for clothes on the laundry line, just beyond the reach of the longest swing.  Running down hill is even clearer as game between control and chaos, when a little trip could mean a fall (or would, if she didn't have her hands in mine).

Kayaking and kitesurfing are similar: you don't control the water or the waves or the wind.  They are a movement that you can understand and use, but not influence.  The joy of the sport comes from using these dangerous and unstable (though not unpredictable) elements as toys, exercising what little control I can to make a game.

There's an important metaphor about freedom here, if I can get my mind around it.