Change. Not my favorite topic. Last week I was pondering wide open spaces; looking out at horizons that seemed endless with little navigational guides along the way. As I was discussing that thought process with someone, they said, “You’re in the ‘trembles.'”
The” trembles” are what happens when you are trying to move forward in pursuit of new horizons, but you’re having to trust others’ roles in that process. Imagine a rope bridge over some kind of chasm or gorge. You have a general idea of where it’s going, but you didn’t build the bridge, and you’re not sure of it’s stability. There’s fog in the distance blurring what’s actually at the end of the bridge. (Think of that scene in Jurassic Park III, you know the one, where the precarious bridge starts rocking because there’s a freaking pterodactyl coming at the character…that kind of fog.) You have a guide, but they are ahead of you and you can’t see them very clearly; and it turns out they are only crossing for the first time too. They’ve got enough of the boards past their own weight and they trust it’s going to hold, but really, how do they know for sure? What if they make that final leap and one of those ropes isn’t secure enough to support a second traveler?
In my scenario there’s a swiftly flowing river below, and the fall is theoretically survivable, but I’m going to be swept downstream and I don’t know where that will end up either. I’d rather successfully pass the bridge even if each board forward wobbles a bit, even if the guide is at times purposefully making it sway just to test my stamina. If they make it and the bridge does fail, do I know if I’d try to hold on and climb my way up, or would I let go and let the current take me?
Perhaps in life we’re safer never stepping on those bridges; never experiencing the trembles. But sometimes what lies behind, staying in the status quo is scarier than possibly falling, or encountering a pterodactyl.
Girl with Dog 