Discovering Myself

Marilou Giesbrecht
Jul 10, 2017 · 3 min read
Photo courtesy of Freepik

A sudden gust of wind sprang up, swaying the branches of the pines and sending a chill seeping through the thinness of the woman’s jacket. She shivered and, while it was a pointless endeavor — as it didn’t guarantee it would make her any warmer — she wrapped the jacket tighter around her.

The woman closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath of the cold mountain air. She’d come to this place, seeking release from all the mental turmoil triggered by a stringent upbringing and the rejection of those people who hadn’t approved of her leaving it. But, like the water of the stream flowing at her feet, confusing, conflicting thoughts still swirled and tumbled through her mind.

The woman opened her eyes and shifted her gaze to the old railroad bridge stretching out across the valley. Sighing, she combed slender fingers through her reddish blonde curls. Normally, the sight of that weathered, wooden structure would have fascinated her. Normally, she would have been intrigued by it, imagining the reverberation and the clickety-clack of the wheels as a train thundered across it. But in the greyness of the late autumn day and with the darkening of her mood, it only served as a reminder of the failed attempts to bridge the gap between her past and the present.

Looking back she could see what drove the people she’d grown up around to operate like they did; the fear that motivated them to sit down, shut up, and do as they were told. They had tried to instill that same fear into her, but she’d never been good at being scared into submission. Instead, much to their consternation, she had continued to do what came naturally: voicing her true feelings, expressing her own thoughts, and making her own choices. Which resulted in being cast out from their midst.

The woman lifted her eyes to the mountains. Even when overshadowed by an overcast sky, their rugged beauty could still inspire and excite her. She had hoped their beauty would do just that, and bring peace to her troubled mind. But in this moment they appeared only to be unfriendly, foreboding, and unforthcoming.

As she continued to wrestle with her own thoughts, a ray of sunlight shot through a break in the clouds. The landscape sprang into life, with an autumnal golden glow that not even the encroaching winter could diminish. She watched as the wisps of clouds shrouding the mountain peaks began to dissipate, dispelling, along with them, the cloudiness of her own mind.

The woman slipped off her jacket, folded it neatly, and gently laid it on the ground. She no longer needed it, the sunlight had warmed her, both inside and out. She climbed up the hillside and stepped onto the bridge. Treading gingerly on the weathered, wooden planks, she walked to the middle of the structure and stood there, quietly soaking in the scenery.

Viewing the bridge from afar, the structural integrity of it might have been in question. But traversing it had proved to hold her weight up well. And she pondered on why she had doubted its strength to begin with. That bridge had been designed and created to support the tons of steel traveling over it and even with decades of not being in use and with the elements weakening the wood in spots, it still stood strong. She marveled at the significance of that construction. She was the bridge. And life with all its influences was the ton of steel traveling over her. But there was nothing to fear; her structural integrity, her own humanity, had been specifically designed and created to support life.

The bridge shuddered and creaked in the wind. But it held steady. The woman laughed, her laughter echoing off of the mountains and throughout the ages to come. She found what she had come to this place for, what she been seeking: herself. And that discovery had bridged the gaps.

Written by

Writer of short stories, artist, crazy about the Colorado Rocky Mountains

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