“The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn.” —David Russell
Yeah, okay, so that quote doesn’t quite apply here, lol. I’m not known for burning bridges, literal or otherwise. I don’t forget people. My memory may not be 100%, but I still remember faces, even if the names escape me. Every once and a while a regret may pop up in my head over broken connections and bad impressions… but those things are a part of life.
On the literal side of things, a new bridge was recently built to replace an old one and make way for new power lines, here in Nowhere, Maine. (Buxton, to be precise.) It was the Bar Mills Bridge, built in 1936, that had to go. The green bridge, which closed July 11, is still being dismantled…
Large trucks (above a certain weight) were not permitted to use the old bridge, for obvious reasons. (Eighty years old.)
The new one was completed in November— a contract of 120 days.
On the metaphorical side, I have a real problem at building my own bridges. An Aspie who fell out of love with life, connecting with people has always been hard. But I must build. No man is an island. We must grow to live. At least professionally, we need relationships. Of course, there’s always some pain in the process, some kind of labor. And when a bridge fails, it can take part(s) of you down with it… But we need to exercise the right muscles; we need to try to repair and move on. Sometimes we can manage without a bridge somewhere, but every so often we must rebuild.
All of us come and go in our own time, and none of us are the same. What was sweet is bound to turn sour, so we must accept facts and learn to move on— forgive when it is time. Easier said than done sometimes. But if we can, in fact, never forget someone who no longer needs us… then why try to hold on if we’ll always remember?
Soon after crossing that new literal bridge over Saco River, and for the first time, my mother spotted some sheep. Or, at least they appear to be sheep…
She pulled over. It was quite sudden, but there was no traffic. And so I took the opportunity; I crossed the road, and approached the fence. And they, the sheep, were excited. They may have expected food (from strangers), considering they rose to see me. Needless to say, there was no intellectual conversation to be had. I said “hello,” and one of them immediately pooed. They all gradually turned their heads away. …Again, I’m not known for connecting very well with others. Noticing the dropping of “malted milk balls,” I said “okay,” and moved on to the other side of the barn. …And I’m sorry if I’ve caused you to never eat Whoppers® again.
On the other side of the barn, I got some baas. Click here for a video.
I could go into the metaphors of being a “sheep” and “don’t be like a sheep to the slaughter,” and stuff like that, but… nah. (Or na’ah’ah…) We’re all on our way to some place, and it’s not really my place to tell you, dear reader, what to think. I can, however, ask you to be honest with yourself, in good reason and good health.
Well, I got a lot of backlog of reading and writing to tend to. Until next time…