If this moment --this week -- was a point on my metaphorical path of life I'd be standing on a bridge that spans two banks. I'd imagine it's a walking bridge since my path is not meant for cars and trucks...an arched bridge like the ones in impressionist paintings. Wooden, sturdy and beautiful in it's simplicity. The water rushing fast below over rocks and swirling in small whirlpools, and here I stand, at the highest point in the arch, the exact middle of the span looking down leaning on the railing at the beauty of the tumultuous waters below. From this point I have a great view of the sun setting behind me, spraying her evening rays across the lands traveled...I can see my path at the horizon, see the ghosts of my childhood running along in the setting rays, the twists, and turns my trail takes away from the fading memories of my mom with the late 80's perm, my baby brother dressing up in drag to play "Jenny" with the 8 year old me, I see the hills which seemed like mountains...ridding my bike to school with that clarinet strapped to the back, passing notes in social studies, middle school dances and my first crushes. I see the high school version of me...quiet and insecure, acting like she had it all figured out...my first boyfriend and his crooked smile. I see the college me, the parties, the long days on campus, the sisters, the summers, the sorority house, Phil, Eric, the fraternity formals, the trips, Monday meetings, IFC sports. I see the people who meant so much to me, the ones who I couldn't imagine my life without, the years and the changing faces like a flip-book. I see the landscape of my friendships change, I see myself change. I see turmoil and pain, moments when I thought I couldn't hurt any more, when I couldn't cry any more, when I couldn't love any more but was too afraid to admit it out loud. I see college end, I see myself getting on the plane to Spain, I see hot long nights followed by hot long days, adventure, discovery, fear. I see distractions, I see Martin and Osa those wooden doors with the blue stripe and my first real job, I see Kiramas and dancing all night having the time of my life, I see South Coast Plaza, Taco Tuedays at the Cave, I see confusion, I see me loosing myself not wanting to loose him and realizing I lost both, I see Virginia, I see DC, Arlington, I see a new path in my mind...a new direction. I see it all in the warm orange glow of the setting sun. I see that path fade, the true path take a sharp turn, I see long hours and late nights out, I see independence, see me finding myself again, loving myself again. I can't help but smile at that long road that stretches behind me...letting the nostalgia wash over me and warm my face and soul like the summer sun. I look down...closer to the the edge of the bank from which I have just come...I see the immediate past more clearly and with less haze, almost as if the evening has fallen yet it is not dark. I see myself clearer, and those who share my road hold less weight. I'm in focus now, I guess that's how we look back on things, the more time and space between what it is we are remembering the more removed we are from it and the more we remember the others who took part. I clearly remember those last few steps up to this bridge, this moment. The fear, the hesitation, the contemplation...the bridge had been clearly in view for some time, but now that I was almost there...did I really want to cross the river? Was I ready to leave this bank behind and with it all the possibilities? Was I ready to face the shadows that in my mind lurked on the other side? Did I want to jump off this path, off this bank, and let the rushing waters sweep me down the river to a new path? If I crossed would I regret it and not be able to come back? Was I supposed to cross?
I remember thinking this bridge didn't look right, it wasn't the bridge I had in mind, wasn't picturesque, wasn't perfect. I grew up imagining that my future would be full of bridges covered in blooming vines bridges that you'd run towards filled with awe from their beauty and perfection, a bridge that you'd not think twice about sprinting across with a giant smile because what must lie on the other side had to be even more spectacular to merit such a gorgeous entrance. Of course, through the twists, turns, potholes, and boulders strewn across my dusty and rough trail called life I realized that nothing is the way you imagined it would be, but old habits die hard, and this bridge was not my fantasy bridge. In fact it's a little rough looking, unpolished, unfinished, plain. Thrown up for functionality more than beauty, and it's mine. It's exactly as it's supposed to be, and it's perfect in its imperfection. Some people are not supposed to have rose covered bridges, and I am one of those...for all the paths that included them I have successfully avoided to choose this one. And once I let go of my fear and took that first step off solid ground and onto the bridge all those doubts melted off.
And here I am...half way across the bridge and the sun is rising in front of me, spraying it's golden rays of possibility to the path ahead, filling me full of hope and excitement for the future. Who knows where my path my lead, but there's one thing I know for sure, whatever twists and turns and other rivers it crosses there's no going backwards. Just forwards. And these moments spent upon this wooden bridge...they are moments when the past and the future collide. When I get to look back and smile, remembering all the people and experiences that have led me here, and to be thankful for every single one of them.
Life is full of little blessings. Next week I'll be stepping off this bridge into new uncharted lands, but I'll still be me, and my path will still wind on and forward as it always has. And I'm a little afraid and excited as I watch the man I share my "now" with arranging his clothes in my newly cleared out closet surrounded by the years of memories wising up into the air from the objects they're attached to now scattered across the living room floor waiting for their new homes in storage or the donation bin or to be tucked away into another corner of ...
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