Crossing Bridges

I never used to be afraid of heights, but as I got to around 30, I started feeling disoriented when up high. Not spinning dizzy like true vertigo, but unstable and with the overwhelming certainty that I would fall. For a person who used to crawl around amongst the lights high above the theater stage, and shoot video from ladders and often-rickety press boxes, this was disturbing.

Nowhere else in my daily life does this impact me more than when I have to drive across a bridge. Most bridges terrify me. I am not talking about butterflies in the stomach. I am talking about my heart pounding so hard I can hear the blood in my ears, my throat so constricted I can’t swallow while feeling like I’m going to throw up, hyperventilating or forgetting to breathe at all, and my thighs shaking like I’m freezing while my face is burning red hot—all at the same time. The anxiety over crossing the bridge is amplified by my body’s out-of-control betrayal.

So, yeah, it’s a problem.

The disorientation is worst at night. When I am out on the bridge, I simply get lost in space. Although my logic knows that if I keep straight in the lane, I will safely cross the bridge, I get a physical sensation as if something is pulling me toward the edge. I irrationally fear that someday my brain will “give in” to this imagined pull and I will allow myself to steer over the edge. Again, my logic knows I will not (since I am fully aware of what is happening), but this irrationality is part of the panic response.

The other day I had to come home from Delaware at night, and I had to cross a bridge. I knew the fear was getting the better of me when I actually considered driving an hour out of my way to take a route that would cross a bridge that did not scare me. I convinced myself that 5 minutes of terror was smarter than an extra hour of driving. So I crossed that bridge when I came to it.

I have several methods of forcing myself across a bridge. If the fear isn’t too bad, I sing. The music is relaxing, and it forces me to regulate my breath, thus avoiding hyperventilation. When the panic is at its height, my brain goes deathly silent and I cannot bring any songs to mind. Then I talk my way over the bridge. Another mechanism is putting the sun visor down (even at night) because cutting off parts of my peripheral vision seems to lessen the disorientation. A third coping skill is “hooking,” where I “hook” the tires closest to the center of the bridge over the dotted white line. Yes, this does put me a little in the other lane, but it somehow decreases that physical feeling of being pulled toward the outer edge of the bridge. I only do it when I think it will not impede traffic—or when the panic is so bad I have to use everything.

This night I couldn’t find any music in my head (“Danny Boy” had gotten me across going down to Delaware earlier). I put down the sun visor, white-knuckled the steering wheel, managed to find a tar strip down the center of the lane closest to the middle of the bridge to “hook”, and talked myself across: “You can do it. You can do it. You can do it.” Over and over.

And then I was across.

The reason for this long tale? Because we all have bridges to cross in life, and many times it’s scary. Even when what’s on the other side is a goal we have worked toward, a life we have dreamed of, or a person we love, crossing that bridge can seem a terrifying task. We fear the disorientation, the possibility of crashing off the edge before we reach the other side. But if we really want what’s waiting for us on the other side, we have to find a way to cross.

Today, on Thanksgiving, I want to thank all the people in my life—colleagues, friends, and family—who have helped me cross myriad bridges, both real and metaphorical. I would not be where I am without each and every one of you, and I am grateful.

If you’re facing a bridge you’re afraid to cross, remember: What’s on the other side is worth the fear. You can do it.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

GoosesQuill FB

Thanksgiving 2012

 In our culture, it’s easy to not be grateful for what we have. We are constantly bombarded with the newest gadgets, bigger houses, more elaborate lifestyles. And even in our daily life, we wish some things were easier/better, or that we had what someone else has, or that a dream we held dear would come true.

It is so easy to lose sight of what we have.

Thanksgiving is, of course, a good time of year to look at our lives and be thankful for what we have. Coming so close on the heels of Hurricane Sandy, I am immensely thankful for the sturdy roof over our heads, the electricity running through our power lines, and the easy fulfillment of our basic necessities such as food and water and heat. We were so, so much luckier than so many of the people not so far from us.

The other things I am thankful for sound familiar, and that’s because these things should be the most important in our lives. I am thankful for my family. I have a wonderful, loving husband who supports my writing dreams and me in every way. I have a healthy, energetic, intelligent Toddler girl who can drive me up a wall but whom I love with all my heart. I am lucky enough to still have my parents, healthy and active. And my brother, who I fought like crazy with as a child, but who I am so proud to have as an ally in my life now. My extended family—sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces, mom-in-law, cousins, aunts and uncles—is warm and generous and I am grateful knowing that if I ever need them they will have my back.

I am thankful for my writing community, who have helped support and forward my dream—including all of my blog readers. My Author Chronicles pals have shared the burden of creating author platform, my Advanced Writing Workshop classmates help keep me laughing and energized, and my beta readers, Nancy Keim Comley, J. Thomas Ross, and Bob Drumm lift my writing to higher levels. Professional mentors (and friends) Jonathan Maberry, Marie Lamba, and Kathryn Craft have help sharpen my writing skills and keep me from giving up on this long journey.

I am thankful for my health and that of those I care about, for the opportunity to pursue my writing dream, and for the 3 mornings a week my Toddler is now in preschool so I can write!

Mostly, I am thankful for the love in my life.

Without love, the rest means nothing.

With love, I already have everything.


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

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