Today we’d like to introduce you to Ethan Seifert.
Hi Ethan, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
The story of both myself and coastertherapy really began in late 2019. I had just graduated high school the year before and was trying to navigate college in the middle of a socially awkward, isolating pandemic. I felt pretty lost—like a lot of people do at that stage. During this time in college, I had picked up photography for fun as a little side hobby. It gave me something creative to focus on when a lot in my life felt uncertain. To be honest, I sucked at it, but it gave me something to enjoy learning and a way to see tangible improvements when most of my life felt like I was behind those around me. Still, during that year, I struggled a lot with my mental health and depression and shelved photography for much of 2020. There were many days when I couldn’t even bring myself to get out of bed, let alone go take photos of anything.
So, where do rollercoasters come into all this? Well, I always found it ironic that I lived in Ohio my entire life—a state known for having some of the best rollercoasters in the world—yet I had always been terrified of them. When I was a kid, I rode The Beast at Kings Island, and it scared me so badly that I avoided actually riding coasters for years. But even then, I couldn’t help feeling fascinated by them. I would watch countless YouTube videos about coaster manufacturers and learn about how the restraints work, how the trains stay on the track, and the history of the coasters near and far from me. It had become a bit of a side curiosity of mine—learning all the manufacturers and their rides, while still being too terrified to actually ride them.
In the summer of 2021, a few of my best friends from high school invited me to go back to Kings Island. What seemed like just a fun day trip ended up becoming a real turning point for me. At the time, I had been in a dark place—mentally drained, stuck, and unsure of who I was or where I was going. But something about that day—laughing in line, screaming through the drops, feeling completely present—brought me back to life in a way I didn’t expect. My friends probably don’t realize it, but they pulled me out of a place I didn’t think I’d get out of. Without that day, I really am not sure if I would still be here.
That’s when everything clicked. I realized there are so many people who turn to amusement parks for the same reason I do—to escape, to feel weightless, to feel alive. And I fell in love with the idea of capturing that feeling through photography. At the heart of my page, I’ve always been open about my mental health struggles, and that’s actually part of the reason the page is called coastertherapy. For me, visiting theme parks and photographing rollercoasters became a way to decompress and find a bit of calm in the chaos. It turns out, a lot of people really relate to that feeling.
That same year, I went all in on a professional camera setup and got to it. It was a lot at first—walking around a crowded theme park with a big camera. Actually going out and taking photos is much different than just thinking about it. But having a lot of inspiration from leading rollercoaster photography pages such as @peninsula.of.thrills, @bkphotopage, @caseyjohnsonphotos, and @jantzen73 really helped me grow my page into what it is today. I’m thankful for the examples those individuals have set for me, so that I can be able to set examples for those who wish to do what I do.
Today, I’ve ridden over 200 unique rollercoasters, made lifelong friends I wouldn’t trade for anything, and experienced things I never thought were possible—all because of this silly rollercoaster photography page I started during a rough patch in my life. Saying rollercoasters saved my life almost feels like an understatement. Back then—almost five years ago now—I couldn’t imagine ever feeling passionate about something like I do with rollercoasters. But here I am. Still riding. Still photographing. Still living. And honestly, despite everything, that feels like the best thing I could be doing.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Of course not, nothing worthwhile seems to come easy.
Sharing my work, showing up at parks with a camera, and taking a shot at being part of a community I admired—it felt intimidating. There were definitely moments of imposter syndrome, of comparing my work to others who had been doing it for years, and wondering if I had anything valuable to offer. Social media has this way of taking your art and making it very easy to compare it to the most successful individuals in your craft. Making art for yourself is great, but the second you start posting your work online, that sense of personal fulfillment can start to get tangled up with numbers: likes, shares, follows, views. It’s almost impossible not to notice when something flops compared to another post. And when you’ve poured hours into shooting, editing, and crafting something you’re proud of, seeing it go unnoticed can hit hard.
There have been moments where I’ve really questioned the value of what I do—times where I’ve asked myself, “Is this even worth it?” Not because I don’t love it, but because the internet has a way of making you feel invisible if you’re not constantly going viral or trending. You can lose sight of how far you’ve come and start measuring your worth by numbers that honestly don’t reflect the meaning or intention behind the work.
And the comparison trap? Brutal. There are so many insanely talented creators out there in the coaster photography space, and it’s easy to look at their perfectly curated feeds and start feeling like yours doesn’t stack up. That kind of mindset can make it really difficult to stay motivated, or to feel like your own voice and perspective matter. Even if deep down, you know everyone has a different journey and skill level, it’s hard not to internalize that pressure to constantly be “better.”
So no, in short it hasn’t always been smooth. But over time, I’ve had to remind myself why I started this in the first place. coastertherapy wasn’t born from an algorithm—it was born from a personal need to create and connect with those around me. Every photo that made me feel something is still valid. And honestly, when I get messages from people saying they relate to my story, or that my photos made them smile or inspired them—that means more than any number on a screen ever could.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
At the heart of what I do, I’m a photographer and storyteller with a deep love for theme parks—specifically rollercoasters—and how they make people feel. Through coastertherapy, I specialize in capturing not just the rides themselves, but the escapism for me that comes with the theme park experience.|
I think what sets me apart is that this page didn’t start with any elaborate brand strategy or some influencer—it started during one of the lowest points in my life. coastertherapy was literally therapy for me. So there’s a layer of emotional honesty behind my work that I think people connect with. I’m not just taking pictures of rides—I’m capturing moments that, for me and for a lot of others, represent comfort, escape, and healing. I’ve always been open about my mental health and the role theme parks have played in helping me find peace, and I think people appreciate that vulnerability.
I am so incredibly proud of myself for taking a skill that was once shoved to the side and turning it into something that has given me a direction in life, even if it is something as silly as taking photos of rollercoasters. I have a portfolio full of recognizable skills now that I would have never had before had I not started this page.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/coastertherapy/
