bridges

Recently a friend was going through a difficult transition, and I told him to try and think of himself as being on a bridge. When you're on a bridge, you're between two places. There's not a sense of finality or doom. There's only anticipation and expectation and looking ahead. 

And I've realized what a powerful tool that is, in managing my own emotions. This is a hard time for me. I have a job, I have insurance, I have my health, and I have supportive friends. There's nothing really wrong. But it isn't a time of thriving, either. There isn't a lot of joy or excitement or connection or fulfillment. My friends all peaced out of LA, I haven't been able to go out, have fun, hear music, meet new people, be stimulated and engaged. I feel creatively flat.

My mind loves to lie to me at times like this. It loves to whisper and insinuate. It loves to plant seeds of doubt and fear way, way down deep in the bottom of my soul. It loves to hint at finality and doom. But all I have to do is answer, No. I'm just on a bridge. I'm between times of thriving and joy. And while I'm on this bridge, I'm still growing. Still learning patience and forbearance and acceptance. The bridge is serving a purpose, too.

It's a kind of faith. 

I saw an incredible quote today that stopped me cold. Faulkner. "You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore." I don't know that I've ever had the courage to swim away from any shore, ever. I cling to the shallows in my fucking water wings. But I was stirred by that quote because even if I'm not actively paddling out, I know that just by virtue of all the change (read: loss) of the last year and a half - I now have space in my life for whatever is on the new horizons. And I know that the changes I'm working toward are going to be here before I know it. And then my courage will be called upon, in a way it never has. And there will be no water wings in sight.