Burning Bridges - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

Burning Bridges

"Don't burn your bridges" some men say
but in each life there comes a day
when flame is lit and match is tossed
the moment that the bridge is crossed.
You watch the flames engulf and burn
and know you're glad you can't return -
to barren isle, of life bereft -
a place you should have sooner left -
where soul was shackled by remorse
for every hour you stayed the course.
When toxic gasses choked your breath
as fresh ideas were put to death,
you marveled at how some could thrive
on watching struggles to survive
in stagnant , rancid atmospheres
where joy in living disappears.
From such a prison one must flee
and once escaped and safely free,
set fire to the bridge behind -
and in the act find peace of mind.

By Sharon Flood Kasenberg  (November 3, 2008)

At one time or another, each of us will face the uncomfortable truth that we're "in a bad place." While I'm pretty stoic about trying to make the most of whatever life throws at me, there have been times when I've been forced to see the wisdom in moving myself out of easy target range. We don't usually need to be miserable where we are - but conversely we don't need to stay where we are if a change will improve our lives.

There are some levels of toxicity that none of us should allow ourselves to remain exposed to, but humans are a stubborn species, so it can take a while for that truth to sink in. We decide what to do, who to marry, where to live, what ideologies to embrace...and if our decisions don't seem to pan out the way we thought they would we're quick to blame ourselves for not trying hard enough. We beat ourselves up as we dig in and do everything in our power to prove that our choices were good ones - even if they weren't - or if our situations changed sufficiently that what began as a good decision has morphed into a source of misery.

To expand on the plant analogy used in last post (Bloom Where You Stand), I might plant a lovely patch of impatiens under a shady tree in my yard and enjoy their blooms immensely, but if that tree comes down and I still insist on planting the same shade loving variety in a spot that now gets full sunlight I'm going to disappointed. The choice that used to be so sensible is no longer viable.

The good news is that we are not plants. It isn't easy, but we can uproot ourselves - physically move away from those "pests and weeds" that make blooming difficult or even impossible. We can move into a new neighbourhood, move out of a toxic relationship, retrain our brains to embrace new thoughts or leave a job that sucks every ounce of joy out of life.

About six years ago I was fired from a job. Don't feel too sorry for me - it was a short retail stint. I was promised more hours than the other hires because I had more experience with the products being sold, so now it seems logical that mine would be the first neck on the chopping block. On paper, the job seemed like it would be a great fit for me, but from the beginning it felt wrong.

The owner expected a slavish devotion to her "vision" that I just couldn't muster. I was chastised for making conversation with co-workers while we put out stock in the empty store. There was no place to sit down and take a break, no place to eat a brown bag lunch (except seated on the cement floor in the manager's office), and there were three different "bosses" to answer to, all with conflicting opinions about what should be done when. The day I asked for an early shift on my son's birthday (two weeks in advance) I received a guilt trip from the owner, who whined that she'd barely seen her own children in weeks. I knew then and there that I'd never last as her employee. (She obviously resented my ability to work in family time, and sooner or later I would have pointed out that her schedule was her choice - she owned the store!) Nevertheless I was determined to stick it out until a better opportunity came along.

My ego took a horrible beating when I was fired - even though I'd hated the job. Four days later my husband came home and announced that he'd lost his job too. (In his case he'd been in a horrible employment situation for a couple of years, and his job had hung in the balance for several months, so the firing wasn't unexpected.) As soon as I heard this news I sat down and wrote "Burning Bridges" in less than twenty minutes. My husband posted the poem on his Facebook page and got a string of comments from friends - of the "Amen!" variety. Most of these comments came from those who had left bad relationships of one sort or another.

It was a poem that most could relate to, since many had experienced feeling doggedly determined to stay in an unhappy situation, and upon making the decision to flee oppression, knew the cathartic power of striking a match or two. These people understood how easy it can be to go back to what is familiar - even when that choice offers nothing but despair.

A couple days later my husband and I decided that our lungs had inhaled enough soot, and with those bridges still aflame behind us we set off on a road trip to Boston to clear our heads and decide what came next. Todd accepted short term employment until he could start up his own business. I decided that the small amount of money I could bring in working retail wasn't worth the frustrations that came along with the experience - the hours on my feet, and the interactions with unreasonable employers and customers. Home life would be happier with me putting regularly scheduled meals on the table again - and I would be too.  We knew we'd have to tighten our belts for a while, but for the first time in ages we both felt free.

Some bridges need to burn.