The Rickety Bridge

October 4, 2020 § 10 Comments

I have no expectations beyond this moment. Balanced on the pin-head of now, I make no assumptions about the future; take nothing down the road for granted. This makes the small things that go right feel like gifts—if I don’t expect, anticipate, or feel deserving-of, when something good occurs, gratitude washes over me.  

The downside is that I don’t dare to hope, or let myself look ahead, or plan. The future is a bridge too rickety to imagine walking across, but in truth, has there ever been a bridge there at all? The future is never a done-deal until it becomes the past. Maybe that is a truth that has just become more apparent.

Now that I accept this uncertainty, I clutch the moment; do the work of the moment. I call a friend. Wash a dish. Cross a small finite task off a small finite list, a list that would resemble a plan if it were not so immediate and modest—and I keep going…I keep going.

If, now and then, I give up, it is only for a moment. Then the next moment comes along. I discover I am still standing and I take the next step.

I cry more often. Laugh more often. Since the moment is all that is, it hits hard. Sad or happy? Each gets my full attention.

We used to be more connected to each other, more often in each other’s company. We had places to go and things to do. It was our collective dreams and efforts that turned the wheels of time. In relative isolation I lean hard on habits to give the world shape. I walk, stretch, sing scales, and I hold a pen and write my daily pages.

If nothing else, I am a witness, one of many court stenographers recording the unfolding and overwhelming case being argued by the pandemic.

One moment becomes the next, and still I am here. And you are here. And as is always the case, although we are rarely aware of it, this is our moment.

Note: My Slow Dance posts are often typed out of the pages of a journal in which I write a daily essay. Building a bridge of my own, a bridge of words, is a way to hold the days and weeks together, a way to make sense of them. This daily practice might help you too. Give it a try.

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§ 10 Responses to The Rickety Bridge

  • lcjameson says:

    Inspiring! Thank you!
    Liz

    Like

  • Anonymous says:

    I love this metaphor! Am inspired to write a poem to go with it! Thanks always, Gordon

    Like

  • hi dear adrian,
    wishing you & ray & your creative family many more of the filled-in, with ideas, filled-up with food, dry roof over head, car handy if you need that rush to the walk-in clinic, understandings than the empty, nothing seconds. you are wise to feel how you feel & not push that aside.
    some sage said “tomorrow is never promised.”
    and this half-year-plus of living that as reality & not an empty saying, tests our limits.
    we are mourning so much but this month, this year’s loss of halloween, but intend to dress up at home & post that.
    the opposite of tomorrow is never promised
    is
    who knows what tomorrow may bring,
    could bring most anything,
    a rainbow sky, sweet kiss from my guy,
    who knows what tomorrow may bring.
    you deserve only the best thoughts, prayers & entertainments.
    xo

    Like

  • craig reeder says:

    your words cast a warm and personal light on the importance of the present moment. let me add a quote from Eckhart Tolle: “the only thing that is ultimately real about your journey is the step you are taking at this moment. That’s all there ever is.”

    Like

  • Chris Fogelin says:

    Hi Amy, I unintentionally had an appropriate soundtrack to your post that I think you’d enjoy. I read your post with “From a Window Seat” by Dawes playing in the background. You should give it a listen. 🙂 As to your post, what an elegant way to describe the uncertainty of the future and the path we follow. Life does have a guarantee, a beginning and an end. What goes in-between is the uncertain aspect and you can try and depend on providence for it to be fruitful or do the best you can do to make it worthwhile. Another good one Amy.

    Like

    • Thank you, brother. Note: I’ve been peering into every pundit’s living room as they all report virtually and I have been checking out their book shelves (all seem to pose in front of books) and wondering how many of the titles they have actually read. My brother’s house is packed with books–and he has read all but a handful of them, many several times. He has lived the thoughtful life Covid has introduced many of us to for years and years. It is a pleasure to have such a brother.

      Liked by 1 person

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