Bridges

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In the last three months, I have lived in three different places within the same city. And in a month's time, I'll be traveling across the country to live on the west coast for three more months. And then... who knows where I'll be!

It's enough to make your head spin. Mine certainly has been in constant rotation this whole summer. I feel rootless, dizzy and a bit breathless. But there seems to be a consistent pattern of time when I feel the most grounded, content and grateful. This summer has been a string of moments of me thinking back on one of the many versions of my past selves. I think things like: "my past self would really love this" or "my past self would not believe all I've been through" or "my past self would be in awe of me right now." 

Each of these past selves - let's call them "Bridges" - live in a different time of my life, and I like to think come to peek into my current life when I'm doing something I know they would have been interested in. Thinking back on these Bridges brings me gratitude as I think about memories surrounding them and how they might be feeling today. 

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Many moments of my summer has brought different Bridges to mind:

I walk across the stage to receive my hood for my master's degree in Occupational Therapy in July and think about the Bridge who was starting the program two Junes ago and crying at night wondering if she'll make it through. 

I go to my summer job as a personal care assistant for a young girl with cerebral palsy and help her walk across the backyard to her favorite swing. I think about the Bridge in high school who wanted to be a physical therapist and help kids learn to walk. I think this Bridge would be interested to see how I can help this young girl with other things too, like taking a bath or using both of her arms to reach for her toys. 

As I tearfully share with someone the details of my cousin's death on our porch in Woodbury, I think about all the Bridges who knew Claire when she was alive, and I feel them holding me up as they also take the weight of this heavy story. 

I listen to Taylor Swift's re-release of her Speak Now album and sing her lyrics as I drive and I think about 15 year old Bridge listening to this album for the first time in her room, aching to fall in love. 

As I travel to the beach by myself and submerge in the icy depths of Lake Superior, I think about the Bridge who took a Duluth trip by herself to scope out the place she'd be living for the next two years and ate a sandwich by the lake and couldn't believe she would get to see this view everyday. 

I go to Portland Malt Shop in Duluth with my boyfriend to celebrate dating for a year, and think about the Bridge who came here last spring with friends but couldn't help but think about how cute it would be to have a date here with a boy and share a malt and enjoy it together by the water. 

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It is a comfort to think of all these past selves. It reminds me of how far I've come, and puts into perspective how sweet my life is, even if it sometimes feels chaotic, confusing or uncertain. As I wrote this blog, the idea to name my past selves "Bridges" just spilled out of me and I am sitting here admiring just how sweet and symbolic this name is. My past selves will always bridge me from past moments to the current one and help me find stability, rest and home in what I'm doing. And I also think they would be so proud of where I'm at today, wherever that is. 

It's kind of like how when you're watching a TV show and it suddenly jumps five or ten yers in the future and emotional music is playing in the background and you're sitting there wondering how the heck the main character got there and what has happened to them. 

But I am here, and here is good.  


song recommendation: "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield

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