The View from a Bridge

There have many songs written about bridges: “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, “Love Can Build a Bridge”, “Too Many Rivers” and “London Bridge” (and not the brainless Fergie version.) Most of the songs have one thing in common: transition. Sometimes we come to a certain bridge and pause looking at the other side, what is beneath and most importantly should it be crossed? The metaphors here are endless. I think most of us view bridges as a means to get from one side to another, but what are the sides or better yet is it safe?

Okay, two people meet on a bridge. The bridge is new and the view beautiful and endless. They decided they liked where they were and started building a life together. A few years passed and the two are still very happy, the view gorgeous as ever, the bridge stable. As the years progress one or both begin to creep from the middle to different sides of the bridge curious as to what is there. The farther away they move from one another the view begins to change. Yes, they return to the middle together but things are not the same. Both have had a glimpse of the other sides of the bridge and suddenly their beautiful view from the middle is clouded.

Now, all of this pacing from one side to the other has made the bridge unstable, the two begin to feel insecure and unsure. Soon a choice has to be made: cross the bridge together or retreat to different sides. Both retreat to opposite sides to what they consider to be safe ground, the bridge no longer sturdy to navigate and so they part.

After a few years, both return to the bridge thinking maybe they’ll get a glimpse of that someone they knew on the other side; but all that remains is the rickety mess they left behind; still they come back again and again, no one on the other side.

One day it happened that both arrived at opposite sides at the same time. They were happy to see each other but both stared down at the weathered boards and tattered rope in front of them. They both looked out for that beautiful view, but the trees only gave them a glimpse, bits and pieces of the beauty they once viewed from the middle of the bridge. The two could only manage smiles and shrug their shoulders. They were both anxious to talk to each other openly and honestly, discuss what they’ve learned, the progress they’ve made. But how do they get to the middle of the bridge?

“It’s not safe!” one yelled to the other. “What do we do?” the other yelled back. “It’s not worth it. We’ve been here before.” The other replied. “Then why do we keep coming back?” said the other. Then there was silence. “I keep remembering the way this used to look that day we met in the middle.” He replied. “But we didn’t meet in middle that day. I saw you on the other side and we worked our way to the middle.” the other said. “How do you know if the view is the same?” he said. “How do you know if it’s not better? Listen. We’ll never know if we don’t at least try.” He yelled. “I’m afraid of you and what you became.” He shot back. “I know, but you have no idea the long road I’ve traveled on this side to get back here. Have we come all this way to just stare at each other? We can’t stay this way forever. We’ll take it one board at a time.” He answered. The other could not reply but only look across sadly and turn away.

The one left behind sat on a rock by the edge. “He’ll be back.” he said to himself. Until that day he’ll sit and wait.