The bridge

Well, that looks easy enough. Everyone else is doing it. What’s the big deal? (Image by JamesDeMers)

Here I am, standing on the edge.

There are things to be done — nebulous, amorphous things.

I don't have the mental or physical stamina. I'm cold, hungry, tired.

This would be easier on a different day. Or in a different life.

I can imagine so many reasons not to do this. It's boring. It's hard. No one will notice if I don't do it.

I can question whether it was even a worthwhile idea to do the thing in the first place.

I can tell myself that I'm justified in taking time away. I deserve a break. I shouldn't have to do this.

I don't want to get my self-worth from my accomplishments. If I don't do the work at hand, I can forgive myself. This is not the be-all, end-all.

But even though I don't have to do it, I want to. Because though I'm on the edge, there is a bridge to the other side. When I do this work, I will feel the relief of having done it.

Amorphous though it may be, I can pull a bit of fluff off of the cloud of obligation and lay out its parameters. I can give this smaller piece a beginning, middle, and end that will allow me to define it as complete for the time being.

When I've done it — beginning, middle, and end — I will have crossed the bridge. The pain I feel now will be a memory, replaced by the satisfaction of setting out to do something and following through.

As a matter of fact, by the time I've pulled a piece of fluff — identifying this smaller piece and being willing to take it on — I've already taken my first steps across the bridge. I've committed. I've moved past the wondering whether I will. I'm well on my way.

Walking across the bridge is a quieter affair than standing on the bank of the river. There's less chatter in my head. Though I might still worry whether I'm on the right bridge at the right time, or whether I have what it takes to cross, I can also see just how close the other side is. I can return my focus, again and again, to the steps I'm taking, one by one. I can see that I'm getting closer to the other side, and that helps me to keep going.

As I move forward, it's not a good idea to look down through the grates beneath my feet to the swirling water below. Instead, I can look at the scenery all around: The water shimmering in the sunlight, the hills in the distance, the sky above. There is always something beautiful that merits my attention.

In this way, step by step, I make it across. I find myself back on land. The work is done, and the lightness I feel is my reward.

I know this won't be the last bridge I'll encounter on my journey. Hopefully, I'll remember the euphoria of having done it the next time I'm stuck and wishing I didn't have to do it. I'll cross as many bridges as I have to in order to finally learn that lesson.