Swing

We Aspies like our swings. It's not hard to understand why. The back and forth motion quiets the agitated mind. The energy that might otherwise be released through nervous stimming finds a more rhythmic, orderly outlet. Who wouldn't enjoy a good swing?

I sit on my outdoor rocking glider as I write this. I've had it about a year. It's nice, for the few minutes I spend out here, now and then. It's relaxing, an invitation to step outside and do nothing. Until the mosquito-dodging, and the unending drone of the air conditioners, drives me back indoors.

Yet, my glider swing does lack something compared to the real thing, by which I mean a swing set. I suppose it's been 20-odd years since my last time. I remember how it feels, vaguely. Gripping the metal chains with my hands... Pumping my legs... Gradually propelling myself along an ever-widening arc, and the ground below appearing to rock along with me, up and then down. On and on. All cares fall away. Ah yes... that was the stuff.

Why's it have to be a kid thing? Surely, I'd get funny looks today, at my age, if I dared. A pity. I must confess, that somehow, some way, I hope I get to swing again in this lifetime. For real.