It should come as no surprise, if you know me well at all, that I am not a fan of heights. I used to be a theme park fanatic, but my enjoyment of roller coasters disappeared like a freshly fried funnel cake when I grew up. I will still ride them to save face with my kids, but I don’t enjoy them nearly as much as I used to.

 

More specifically, I do not like bridges. In part, I blame the “Natural Frequency” video that we watched in high school. My usual commute to work takes me across one large overpass. It doesn’t usually bother me unless the weather is bad. (For instance, I took a different route to work all last week when we had icy mornings.)

 

I should have thought about that this morning, because the fog was so dense, visibility was limited to three or four car lengths ahead of me. At one point, I tapped my brakes to give a dump truck behind me ample warning that we were slowing down quickly. It looked like it was approaching much too quickly, and sure enough, the driver had to veer off onto the shoulder to keep from rear-ending me. I had checked my side mirrors and was prepared to swerve into the other lane if necessary, but thankfully it was ok.

 

As I followed a slow line of vehicles up the foggy on-ramp of the overpass, it occurred to me that none of us could see the top of the bridge, much less the other side. For all we knew, the bridge could have snapped like that awful video, and we were being led to our doom like the Pied Piper’s rats.

 

I thought about walking through the fog, metaphorically speaking, each and every day. I can’t see what’s at the top of the bridge, much less what awaits me on the downhill side. I have two hands on the wheel and a tentative foot hovering over the brake, but when it comes down to it, I have to trust that my Bridge will support me.