A few weeks ago, I went on a birthday trip to Albania with one of my favorite partners in crime. Quick context: he’s white, a Sagittarius, and has no fear of dying. Got the picture? Cool.
One of the highlights of the trip was this hike to a waterfall I’d been dying to see. You know, a serene, bucket-list moment.
But along the way, we stumbled across this sketchy, dingy bridge. Immediately, his face lit up like a kid in a candy store. “I’m gonna cross that bridge,” he announced.
I said cool, thinking there’s no way this man is serious. Spoiler: he was dead ass.
On our way back mister man walked right up to that sketchy bridge, did his version of a thorough inspection, and got on. Before stepping onto this death trap, he kindly asked me, “Wanna join?”
Did I?
I stayed on solid ground, watching and recording his adventure because in my head someone had to stay alive in case things went south. But I’ll be honest—part of me regrets it, and that regret has been haunting me in my dreams ever since.
See, I let my fear stop me. Technically, the bridge was…fine. I mean, people literally lived on the other side. But every cell in my body screamed “NOPE.” I was paralyzed with fear, which—side note—led to a full-on panic attack. For those of you lucky enough to have never experienced one, it feels like you’re dying. But these days, I’ve gotten so good at internalizing them that he had no idea. So there I stood, quietly losing it while he just…crossed.
But here’s where it gets interesting.
In my dream, I finally crossed that bridge. It wasn’t entirely the same bridge; it was worse. Dingier, wobblier, and missing a few planks altogether. But somehow, I crossed it anyway.
I could feel the fear in my gut, the anxiety manifesting in my stomach, but I just kept moving forward. I yelled, cussed, and didn’t care who I had to shove out of my way—I was crossing that damn bridge.
When I woke up, something clicked. That bridge? It was more than just a literal crossing point; it was a metaphor for every risk, every leap, every challenge standing between me and the things I really want in life.
And here’s the kicker: If I want to get to those bigger things, I’m gonna have to do them scared. I can either face the fear head-on, or let it paralyze me like it did on that hike—and regret it for the rest of my life.
The Real Lesson
The dream also showed me something else. I’ve been way too quiet, way too accommodating when people or circumstances get in the way of my goals. I can’t keep saying “yes” to others if it means saying “no” to myself. In that dream, I didn’t care who was in my way. I screamed, I cussed, I pushed through. And that’s something I need to do more of in real life.
So, here’s what the dingy bridge taught me: Fear is going to be there, no doubt. But the bigger regret isn’t falling—it’s never trying to cross in the first place.
Leave a Reply