A Bridge to “Now”

For some people, it’s planes. For others, it’s heights or crowds. For me, it’s bridges (gephyrophobia, if you want to sound learned).

The fear started to take hold in a serious way in the late 1990s when I moved to Cincinnati, home to the John A. Roebling Suspension Bridge, the longest of its kind in the world. I’d drive miles out of my way to avoid it. Semis and cars alike careened across the bridge at high speeds, and I worried about what ifs: what would happen if there was an accident; how long would it take to hit the water; whether I would be able to get out of the car and swim to shore. When I moved to the Washington, DC, area in 2004, I encountered the monster Chesapeake Bay Bridge, more than four miles long. After at least a dozen trips to Maryland’s Eastern Shore, I have yet to drive it myself and hold my breath and close my eyes as a passenger. I’ve lived here for three of the bridge’s four-in-its-history extreme weather closings and numerous serious accidents, including the day that a semi fell into the bay.  What was the driver thinking as he hit the water? Did he know he was going to die?

When I had to get to the southern tip of New Jersey recently, I looked for options that did not involve the Bay Bridge. I settled on taking the train to Wilmington and renting a car there. However, I had forgotten that I would have to cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge. It’s only half as long as the Bay Bridge, but still plenty long. I’d been across it twice before with a friend driving back in 2004 or so, and it was nerve-wracking.

But I didn’t have much of a choice. And you know what? It was actually bearable. I didn’t look out the window at the water at all; I just focused on the car in front of me. It was done before I knew it. Coming back across two days later was much the same, even with having to suss out the cash lane for the toll.

As I headed for the Wilmington train station, I thought about “what ifs” and how, like everything else in this world, they’re both good and bad. Being able to come up with “what if” scenarios makes my writing stronger. But it limits me in other ways. So while I may never be comfortable driving across the Bay Bridge, I will work at recognizing situations where the better choice of thinking is not “what if” but “focus on now.”