Crossing Over

My friend, Gin Ferrara, on The Brooklyn Bridge, which is over 150 years old. All photos taken with Horizon Perfekt camera and cross-processed Lomo 200 film. Scanned, unedited.When my friend, Gin, came through town a couple weeks ago, all she wanted to do was to find the waffle truck.  It was the perfect kind of adventure--simple, yet laced with just the right amount of mystery and anticipation.  And what better way to track down an infamous waffle, I thought, than to walk the Brooklyn Bridge to get there?  This is still one of my favorite things to do in New York.  We talked the whole way across, and I could feel what Kate means when she says that just doing regular things against the backdrop of this city gives your life a cinematic feeling.

The physical imagery is so helpful, like an alternate version of, say, walking a labyrinth.  Walking the bridge, and even looking back at the pictures later, can really show you a lot about crossing over. 

There's the way a journey can look in the beginning--vast, inviting or daunting.

It can feel larger than life.  It can make you feel small.  Or, you might not believe your good fortune as it invites you in, like the magical chalk drawings the children lept into with Mary Poppins.  Whether you jump in with both feet or tread cautiously ahead, you are on your way.

Sometimes, you look left.

And then you look right.  To get your bearings, to enjoy the view. 

You remind yourself that this bridge is old, in a good way.  That it has delivered perhaps millions of people safely across without failing.  The motion is normal, you tell yourself.  And you try not to clench the railing too hard.

At some point, you find yourself somewhere out there:  in the middle.

With neither shore in close reach, and only water below. 

The worst are those times that feel like being in the middle in a great fog--times in which you can't see where you are heading.  There is just a path beneath your feet.  To keep going, you have to trust that the path is there for a reason and that it leads somewhere good. 

The further I go, the less I get to see and the more I am asked to trust.  In the middle, I do not appreciate this quality of crossing over as perhaps I will from the other side.

After you pass center, the path slopes downward.  The end of this journey, the beginning of the next, is near.  You can see your destination with more clarity and in greater detail than before.

I wish I could write about arrivals or destinations, but I'm not there yet. 

I'm still somewhere swinging over the water in a fog, dreaming of what surprises, adventures and delicious Belgian treats await me on the other side.