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As a runner, I have an affinity for running over bridges, and one of my favorites is the Mario Cuomo Bridge in New York (formerly known as the “Tappan Zee Bridge”). Spanning over three and a half miles, its pedestrian pathway has breathtaking views of sunrise, sunset, and the flowing Hudson River beneath.
But it's not just the running I appreciate-- it's the story behind the bridge.
For decades, the Tappan Zee Bridge enabled cars to travel between Westchester and Rockland Counties. In 2013, construction for a new bridge began after raising concerns about the existing one. It was getting harder to maintain, the repairs were staggering, and the congestion was preventing people from getting from point A to point B efficiently.
Over five years, I watched a new bridge slowly being built from scratch, right alongside the old one. Each time I drove there with my family, we would enthusiastically observe the progress, noting the little developments that grew over time.
Finally, the new bridge was done and it became officially open to traffic. And then—
and only then— the old one was demolished, no longer a pathway from point A to point B.
The first time I drove over the new bridge, I remember looking up at the design and thinking that it looked almost like arms opened up to the heavens in prayer. Surrender.
The story of the Tappan Zee often comes to mind in the context of developing coping skills. Many of us have coping skills that are old and go way back. It’s easy to say that if you want to change badly enough, you’ll change, but sometimes that minimizes the power of familiarity in how these coping skills may have carried us from point A to point B. Maybe they don't feel efficient, or as efficient as they used to be, but it makes sense to struggle with demolishing a bridge of functioning when it feels like the only bridge you've got.
Growth often means building new bridges of coping alongside the old ones, and having to get used to a new route rather than the familiar one you could do in your sleep. It entails a certain surrender, a humbling acknowledgment that something isn’t working, that you yearn for something better, and that it takes work and time to build new pathways.
Progress isn't loud. It can be a little voice that whispers, "This time I did it differently." Every morning we are blessed to wake up, we face a day ahead that will have its burdens and blessings (hopefully). There may be moments where the old bridges-- of thinking, feeling, acting-- feel like the only way to get from point A to point B. But when we imagine newer possibilities and build just a little bit each day, demolishing old notions doesn't have to feel as daunting.
The beginning of a new year is often associated with the idea of turning over a new leaf, the marking of a new beginning. What people long for isn't just for life to change but for a change in the way we relate to life, the way we cope with life.
Breaking old habits and forming new ones-- our visions of change can be easier said than done. But with building a little more each day, growth can become something we don't just see, it's something we can feel as we travel through life.
Thought prompt:
Think of a coping skill you have that's been part of your life for a while.
How does it help?
How does it hinder?
What would it be like to slowly build an alternative option alongside it?
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