As I look back and wonder why so many of my bridges went up in flames, I remember it's because I was holding the matches and decided it was time to strike. And while I may be forgetting the small details like the splinter-studded boards and even the termite-infested wood, I ignore these things and miss them now. I miss being able to take a stroll across those worn, wooden planks that could console me with every step just through their familiarity. I miss the view from those bridges and the route to which they led. But it is too late to rebuild them now. And even if I chose to do so, it would take too much time to wear back in those planks. And over a long time period of rebuilding and refamiliarizing, I may just get fond of those matches again, when driven so by the slightest splinter again. And I would find myself in the same here and now only many years later.

So, instead, off I go to find new bridges that challenge me with their step and show me a new display of territory. What is done, is done and cannot be undone. So now I look for what has yet to be done, and find joy in the conquering. I seek out the new and am acquainting myself with it, for the new may be better and may erase all possibility for previous regret. For regret will emblazen my heart as the matches did to the bridges and will leave me discontent and unhappy. But a hope for what is fresh and new is what reenlivens and empowers and will keep each step of the bridge-seeking process joyful an light.

Dear Mr. Calculus, I sure do love your flavor.