Walking On the Bridge in the Fog
It was our best day to cross the iconic bridge, and even though we stood a chance of heavy fog we decided to do it anyway. It’s not often my wife and I get out to San Francisco (as in, this was our first trip there together), so we wanted to see the high points and landmarks, which of course included a walk across the Golden Gate Bridge and back.
Despite our best laid plans, the fog that was there when we woke up was still there after breakfast and once we made it to the south end of the bridge. We traipsed ahead, seeing everything in front of us, but no more than 20 or so feet above us. The iconic international orange was swallowed by the low clouds.
We could have turned around. With the full view of this engineering marvel badly skewed, it seemed like we were missing the point. I wondered if the hundreds of other walkers and cyclists felt the same that morning. With countless cars loudly whizzing by on our left, truth be told it was like we were just walking across any old loud, busy bridge. We were missing the bridge for the fog.
We continued, made it to the other side and looked back. The view was equally as masked, roadway and cables disappearing a hundred feet into the distance. Our picturesque stroll was just an errand across a boring bridge. The temptation to check Instagram the entire way back would be daunting to dispel.
Foggy lives
Sometimes, fog happens to us. The subway is late. Our kids won’t stop banging on the dinner plates at the pizza restaurant. Our emails don’t get answered. The noise is loud and the view is limited. Nothing feels ambitious and every day is just everyday.
In those moments, it’s easy to determine that there’s nothing to see here on account of the fog and distract ourselves with something else. So we tune out the conversation and daydream. We check our phone. We put in headphones and drown out the mundane with the mindless. We check our phone again. After all, we’re only missing the fog.
Lift the fog
But in those moments, we’re not just ignoring the fog. We’re adding more to it. Fog begets fog begets fog.
The oft quoted exchange from Sideways goes like this:
Maya: ‘Seriously, the ’61 Cheval Blanc is peaking… it might be too late already. What are you waiting for?’
Miles: ‘I don’t know, a special occasion. With the right person.’
Maya: ‘The day you open a ’61 Cheval Blanc, that’s the special occasion.’
The trick in the routine dinners and the bumper-to-bumper comments isn’t to tune out, but to tune in. To press pause on the podcast. To stop our endless scrolling. To let email wait.
“But it’s just weeknight dinner - leftovers and reheated dessert. What could possibly be remarkable?”
I’ll tell you what could be remarkable: Weeknight dinner - leftovers and reheated dessert. Our lives can become remarkable the moment we decide to lift the fog threatening to derail and distract, to convince us that every day is just everyday. When we make the choice to engage, to go deep, to look into someone’s eyes, or to sit and be intensely present, we are lifting the fog.
In those moments, we lift the fog because we’re letting the light in.
Hotel Notes
I left this note in Room 1511 this weekend. As we made our way off the bridge after returning from Saulsalito, we walked down the Presidio to the beach near Crissy Field. It was close to lunchtime then and blue skies were overhead.
Some fog persisted over the bay, but it was losing to the sunshine. Fog always does. We saw the top of the towers of the bridge and the roadway stretching across the strait. All we had to do was keep going, to chase the light.
