Bridges Burned, and Otherwise

It is a bit of a tired metaphor to talk of past relationships, situations, and networks, as bridges that may or may not be burned. And if I really pick the word picture apart, I can see that the people or communities that are no longer accessible are not the actual bridges. They are whatever is on the other side of the bridge. So when we say that we have burned a bridge, what we are saying is that an avenue to previous relationship or community or vocation or setting has been destroyed. And fire is certainly an effective way to destroy something; particularly if that something is an old, rickety, wooden bridge.

Bridges Burned

Yes, I’ve burned bridges before. And often it wasn’t a slow burn. Too many times it was a kerosene-soaked, overly-fueled, spectacle of a fireball that consumed the bridges.

And I’ve heard cute little sayings before (likely written by someone far wiser than me) about how we should allow burning bridges to light our way. Though that sounds astute, again I must dig into the minutia of the metaphor.

Just how long does it take a bridge to burn so that it can give off enough light to get us farther away from what is behind us? And why would we want a light source to be behind us? I feel as if I’d be just another un-woke dweller in Plato’s cave, thinking that what is lit in front of me is the real light, and if I get too far away from the source of light I’d be in the dark. Don’t we want to move as far ahead of and away from a burning bridge as possible? If so, we need a different source of light to illuminate that path.

Though I could easily nurse regrets over the bridges I’ve blown up in brilliant flames of fire, I would rather focus on other bridges.

Because any bridges in my past that now lie in cinders are not going to be crossed again. In order to get to whatever is, or used to be, on the other side I’d need to rebuild the bridge entirely. And I would need the consent of those on the other side that they want the bridge built. And then I would need their help, because bridge building is never a one-person task.

Bridges Neglected

Instead, I am thinking these days of those bridges which we never set aflame, but which have entered a state of decay from lack of use. Perhaps, I’ve been back over them a time or two in recent years, or maybe once I crossed them I have yet to look back.

Until now.

Perhaps to renovate and restore a bridge that is decaying would be a worthy undertaking. Restoration doesn’t require that I need consent from those on the other side of the bridge. If they didn’t want there to be access, they would have burned the bridge themselves. Also, restoration can always begin as a one-person endeavor. And as I’m replacing a few planks on the bridge, or reinforcing with some additional hardware, or cleaning off the debris, those on the other side may notice and want to help me restore the bridge to former glory.

Occasionally, I may navigate the treacherous way across a dilapidated bridge to the other side to reconnect with whomever or whatever is there. And before we even get to restoring the bridge, we may have a lifetime of experience to share while I’m on that other side.

In the simple act of either beginning to restore a bridge or crossing over it after all these years, I might discover something I’ve been missing.

In the simple act of either beginning to restore a bridge or crossing over it after all these years, I might discover something I’ve been missing. Click To Tweet

Yes, we have a lot to learn from the bridges we’ve burned. But I think we may have so much more to learn from the process of revisiting and evaluating those bridges that have been neglected.

We may even become more human in the process. And that is a beautiful thing. Even more beautiful than a brilliantly burning bridge.