What if A River Could Go Uncrossed?

One of my biggest “phobias” is something I have to use every day: bridges. I don’t know how this phobia started, but ever since I can remember going over a bridge freaks me out a bit.

It could stem from this rickety old bridge my Mom used to drive over on the way to my Grandma’s. This bridge was wood and rattled and basically felt as if it could collapse at any moment. It was finally redone a few years ago and is now a smooth ride over concrete. Unfortunately, the materials of a bridge really have no bearing on my fear of them.

As I go over a bridge, I can’t help but think, what if the bridge collapses? What if I lose control of the car and go over the side? What if I get in a wreck and fall over? The list is really quite endless in the few seconds it takes to get across any bridge.

Last night, as I faced an empty bridge over the Missouri River in the middle of the night, the usual accelerated heartbeat and worse case scenarios beating through my brain, I tried to think about what made me so nervous about a bridge? What did I find so alarming?

I’m not sure it’s really the root of it all, but the idea that this man made structure was crossing something not meant to be crossed. Why couldn’t we stay in our own little places, content with what we had? Don’t bridges just increase the desire to have more, do more things, be more places than is really necessary? I suppose this is going a little overboard, but I think in a way it’s true. Sometimes, it’s okay to be content to stay in one spot and do what you can to make that one spot and what you’re doing in it the best you can be and do.
All of these thoughts reminded me of one of my favorite lines from Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible: “If only a river could go uncrossed, and whatever lay on the other side could live as it pleased.”