The Small Bridge
I used to believe that life was rife with trial and hardship; so filled with it, in fact, that it’s the only thing I’d ever experience. But something about that changed when I took my second trip back to the USA this year.
Large, open bodies of water terrified me when I was growing up; as beautiful as it can be, the vast expanse of greenish-blue makes me hyperaware (and hyper anxious) of just how small I really am. How deep is it really? How do I know there isn’t some leviathan waiting beneath the surface to guzzle me up? What if I run out of strength to swim? It wasn’t just the ocean. Even murky ponds can scare me. Especially if I knew there was some other organic life in there. Yikes.
Imagine my surprise (and fear) when I learned that we were going to stay at a lake house for a few days. Normally, I would have violently steered away from water-related activities.
For some reason, this time felt… different. Maybe it was because my ever-conservative, risk-averse parents weren’t with me. Maybe it was because I threw my overthinking brain out the window, and heeded Maverick’s words to Rooster: “Don’t think, just do.” (Top Gun: Maverick, 2022)
Early the first morning, I jumped into the lake. We went out on a rented pontoon, threw out tubes and freely floated where we set our anchor. Later that night, I cast a reel and caught my first fish.
But as exhilarating as those firsts were, nothing compared to our adventure on the Small Bridge.
The Small Bridge is actually more of a dam than a bridge; and we had to walk about half a mile on some train tracks, then veer left into the riverside brush before we arrived at the south end of it.
The river was wide — but not wide enough that we couldn’t make out the lights of cars and building glowing by on the other end. At least some semblance of civilization, I thought to myself.
I wish I had a photo to show just how narrow this dam was; but it was much too dark, and I did not dare for a second to reach a shaky hand into my pocket to take my phone out while I was on the dam.
With the full moon high in the Tennessee sky, we walked across the dam. It was separated into sections — support pillar, long stretch of wall, another pillar, another wall — and that went on about 10 or so times. Though the walls couldn’t be more than 15m in length and just over the width of both of my Ultraboosts next together, those stretches felt like they went on forever as I crept carefully across them. Travis, my leader and friend, met me at about the third support pillar.
“Sit down,” he gestured as his legs dangled precariously off the side of the café-table sized pillar top. My own legs began to tremble — not a muscle was still as I warily lowered myself to a crouch, shifting my weight as slowly and as carefully as I could. Any lapse, cramp, or sudden weakness could very well send both of us toppling into the still, murky river below.
When I finally plopped down into a seated position, legs dangling next to Trav’s, I realized I wasn’t breathing. I inhaled sharply, gasping for air.
“You ok?” Travis asked with a smirk.
Get Edwin Sng’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
“I’m good,” I responded shakily, trying to stave off the adrenaline.
“Y’know, fear is all in your head,” he began. “You’re afraid because your eyes can’t see far enough ahead, or far enough down. If this same sized bridge was on flat ground — even if it was daytime, actually — you’d be a lot less afraid. Your body wouldn’t respond the same way because your brain has the information it needs to declare itself safe.”
Breathlessness aside, I was stunned speechless by the sudden shift in the tone of this little adventure we were on. In the middle of this random, narrow, seemingly treacherous dam in the southern United States, I was having a conversation with my boss about the psychology of fear.
“A lot of things in life are the same way,” Travis continued, undaunted. “A lot of times, we’re afraid to try things or do things because we feel like we need more information to feel safe. But sometimes, it’s as simple as putting one foot in front of the other, and walking forward.”
Then he got up, and strolled casually across the Small Bridge.
This scene lives rent-free in my mind. In those moments where I was so afraid, frozen at the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, I was enlightened to how analogous it was to many other situations in my life. Often this mental barrier of insufficient information would manifest itself in analysis paralysis; I was afraid to confess to the girl I liked, afraid to own up to obligation, afraid to venture into the unknowns of new responsibilities and developments, with little to no assuring information…
But something changed in me that night. Cautiously, I got up from the pillar and slowly, but surely, made my way all the way across the Small Bridge. “One foot in front of the other,” I steeled myself. “Don’t get scared now.”
I felt a surge of adrenaline when I shifted my weight quickly enough to save me from a certain fall. What Danger! How exhilarating.
There then came a tranquil moment spent basking in the radiant, full moon in the clear night sky, with my feet hanging over either side of a length of dam. What Risk! How well it pays.
When I saw the end of the bridge, there was a burst of excitement and my nerve-wracked body came alive again. What an Adventure! I would totally do that again.
As my feet felt solid ground at the other end, triumph and achievement swelled in my chest. I did it! I conquered it! What seemed like an impossible task 20 minutes ago had now become a gigantic (and unbeknownst to me at the time, instrumentally long-term) boost to my personal confidence. I felt invincible. I felt like I could do anything.
That night, my relationships with a few key people in my life changed.
I gained a newfound respect for the one called Danger, became good friends with Risk, and fell in love with the dame named Adventure.
God taught me a great deal in the year of 2022 — but so far, none as potent as this:
“The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.”
- Jesus of Nazareth (John 10:10)
That night, I learned that this “rich and satisfying life” has to be accompanied with a great deal of trust in the Lord’s sovereign hand. And that entails being familiar and unafraid of Danger, Risk, and Adventure; treating them with the respect and dignity they deserve, smiling in their face, and taking them head-on, knowing that the Lord my God has gone before me — whether in the big things in life, or on the Small Bridge in Tennessee.
