Yesterday, whilst watching a grandmother push her granddaughter on a playground swing, I noticed something peculiar about their shared delight. The child's laughter erupted not during forward momentum, but in those weightless moments before gravity reclaimed her. The grandmother seemed equally pleased by the predictable return—the arc that brought the swing back to her waiting hands.
This observation challenges our contemporary obsession with linear advancement. We've constructed professional mythologies around "moving forward" and "reaching the next level." Yet here was evidence of pure joy derived from circular motion—movement that intentionally returns to its starting point, only to begin again.
The swing operates on different mathematics than our productivity culture suggests is optimal. Each arc requires a complete journey away from centre before returning with accumulated momentum. The pleasure isn't found in reaching destinations but in experiencing full cycles of departure and return. The child learns to lean back at peaks, understanding that forward progress sometimes involves surrendering control.
We've largely abandoned cyclical thinking for metrics demanding constant upward trajectory. Career paths, revenue growth, engagement rates—all measured by exceeding previous performance. But the swing suggests a different model: advancement through repetition.
The grandmother's technique reveals sophisticated knowledge about timing and the relationship between effort and release. She doesn't push harder with each cycle