Story - "A Place In Transition" - NL - 1

A Place In Transition

By: Naomi Lea

     There were rocks, fences, mud pits, rivers, thorny bushes, and many more obstacles along that beaten path. There were consequently many scraped knees, throbbing bruises and sore muscles. With each physical trial came a lesson that was beaten, soaked, or stained into the girl's body and mind. 

She remembered the first time she saw rocks on the path. They were small and smooth like the ones she would throw and play with as a child; she knew these rocks. Surely such small rocks would not hurt her. Little did she know that traversing over such small pebbles for long periods of time would eventually cause discomfort because no matter how carefully she stepped, a few stones would always somehow sneak into her shoes and poke her feet. She learned that after while, she would have to empty out her shoes and keep going, for there would always be little, irritating, gravelly rocks that annoyed her, but they can be cleaned out with a periodic shaking of the shoes.

     There were also many fences barring her way. She knew a great deal about fences; they usually enclosed private property or divided sections of land. However, knowing the purpose and materials of the fence does not help one in the way of attempting to get to the other side without experience. She had to deal with barbed wire, wrought iron, red brick, and wooden fences, each with their own traits; barbed wire caught on clothes, wrought iron could get rusty and hard to grip, bricks didn't have ready footholds, and wood had splinters. She learned these lessons well and in turn became adept in patching clothes, removing stains, and performing minor extractions with tweezers. 

     She managed to get through those things just fine by herself. It felt independent and "grown up" to be able to handle those sorts of obstacles. However, there were some trouble spots that could not be done alone. One time she got stuck in a mud pit and no amount of striving or struggling could get herself out. Miraculously, there were some other folks along the path that came to help her. They were on their own journey as well with their own individual obstacles to overcome, yet they still stopped and came to her aid. These folks eventually got into some mud pits themselves, and the girl remembered what happened when she was stuck and how awful it felt. Though she might not always have had the physical strength to pull her fellow journeyers out, she helped in anyway possible. She learned that while she could take care of many small things on her own, some situations require help whether or not you want it.

     One time, the path came to a river; going right up to the water and continuing on the other side as if it ran under the water's surface and straight across to the other bank. It seemed so far from her side to the other. She timidly crept to the water's edge and saw her frightened reflection in the water. How could she possibly make it to the other side? She had never come across this kind of obstacle before. It was completely different from rocks and fences and mud pits, except for the fact that she had to somehow get across. Eventually, she learned how to swim and after unintentionally drinking half the river (or experiencing the feeling of it) and many instances of burning sinuses, she made it to the other side. As she crawled out of the water on the opposite bank, she looked back at the river and her reflection. This time, though far more wet and slimy than before, there was a face of confidence and excitement. She was ready to keep going no matter how she saw herself, for she learned that the reflection was something to see afterwards as a testament to the obstacle and should never be a hindrance in its completion.

     She reached such highs as she passed all these trials, and yet, such lows as well. Every now and then there were thorn bushes along the path that scraped at her ankles, wrists, and all those other vulnerable areas of skin that are so difficult to protect. Those bushes were unavoidable and always found some way to shred her tender flesh regardless of her precautions. She just had to go through the pain; there was no way around it. However, in time, those wounds became scabs and those scabs became scars and the pain faded away. When she met other fellow journeyers on the path nursing their bleeding cuts, she could relate and advise them to apply pressure to the wound and follow up with Neosporin (or cheaper off-brand bacitracin) and band aids. When she saw those with drying and flaking scabs trying to scratch the itchiness away, she would distract them with a funny joke or story to get their mind off that annoying stage of the healing process. Then, there were those that had scars like hers, and they could talk about how they got them and the other journeyers that told them to keep going through the pain and not to itch when they wanted to scratch. There were so many stories behind those scars, but they would always bring up the old saying of the journeyers: "It's not about how to avoid the pain, but how to heal!"

     Though the obstacles ranged in all levels of difficulty, there were also times when it was hard to find the path. It was a dirt path made worn by the many trodden feet. But, sometimes the grass would be overgrown and make it difficult to find the way. There would even be multiple forks in the path that were very visible, and so she had to decide which path to take. Those were often the hardest types of obstacles; simply choosing which way to go. Such cases used to throw the girl into a spinning stress spiral where it took days and days to figure out a way forward. She would camp at those intersections and hash out every single "what if" scenario; "Maybe there are more spiderwebs along path A because there are more trees. That means less mosquitoes because spiders eat mosquitoes, but I still hate spiders! Path B looks a little better but it looks a little too nice. I bet it gets crowded because everybody goes that way and I don't want to be just 'everybody' because I want my journey to be special!" Such thoughts halted her journey. Eventually, she would have to keep going, and when she finally went down a path, she realized it did not matter which fork she took; as long as she was on the path, there would always be a way forward. 

She reminisced on all her journey thus far as she rested by the bridge. The bridge was under construction and she couldn't cross it yet. On the other side of the bridge was a large wooden gate that blocked the continuing path. She was waiting for the bridge to be finished so she could cross and continue on her way. She could even see some pathways stretching far beyond the gate over the distant hills, but she could not see how to get there since the gate was blocking the rest of the view of the connecting path. 

However, this uncertainty did not bother her. She contently waited and sat there with her gear, organizing her bag, tending to recent scrapes, and chatting with other folks who were also waiting for the bridge to be built. There was plenty to do to while waiting. She could learn so many things from all the other journeyers who were there with her; many with far more scars and stories than she had ever seen or heard. She also found that she could be of service to her fellow journeyers as well by volunteering to use her gained knowledge about the path; which berries were poisonous, how to deal with muscle cramps, handing out band-aids, etc. It was actually fun to be camping out with all the others while waiting for the bridge, but she knew that construction would be done soon and the journey must continue. She knew she would face the other side soon, but she also felt reassurance in the path and its existence. There was no "better" or "easier" path to take, there is only the path and all that matters is how well you follow it.