Two Bridges

A while back, in the middle of an eight-hour drive, I crossed a new, multi-lane suspension bridge. It was a beautiful piece of architecture, with a smooth deck, impressive design, and more than enough capacity for the traffic crossing it on a daily basis. As I crossed it, I looked to my right and noticed the old bridge that this one replaced. It showed its age and told quite a story as it idly stood in the shadow of its successor.

“I’ll bet that old bridge still had some good years in it,” I thought as I drove. Yet, I also realized that we can’t wait until the last minute, the point of failure, to replace something as critical as a bridge that carries thousands of people safely from Point A to Point B every day.

When I started this piece, it was simply an observation about these two bridges, new and old. But in writing the first few lines, I realized it’s a metaphor. I’ll let you decide if it means something to you.

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Two bridges. The old and the new.

One was once a workhorse, strong and capable, quietly and consistently doing its job every day for decades. A source of pride for the community it served.

Now, this old stalwart, once a shining star, stands in the shadow of its successor, living out the rest of its days without purpose or mission.

Of course, this new bridge was necessary. “Out with the old,” and all that. And everyone knew that after decades of reliable service, someday that reliable old bridge would need to concede its station to something that would both functionally and symbolically represent the future.

But that vision, that push toward tomorrow, while necessary, shouldn’t diminish the history, the accomplishments or the longevity of the old bridge, should it?

Everyone is excited about this new bridge. It's sleek in its design and built with the latest materials for maximum durability and longevity (just like the old bridge was all those years ago.) And like so many new and shiny things, it inspires confidence and pride in those who see it and use it every day.

The old bridge still casts its presence––its own shadow––over the water. In essence, it’s still doing its job, as long as it stands, regardless of whether it’s carrying travelers and commuters or just waiting for something, or someone, to cross it. After all, it’s still a bridge, just like the new one, and it always will be.

But in recent years, it saw the writing on the wall.

It knew decisions had to be made. Destiny ruled. The future called. And facts and opinions from both experts and decision makers outweighed the benefit of continuing to improve or repair the old bridge. It had, according to those in power, outlived its viability after years of good, hard, productive work.

And now, this old bridge, once the shining, innovative new jewel over the water, sits idle. Waiting to be demolished, or worse, left to rot and erode, falling piece by piece into the uncaring river … dying an undignified and very public death.

And one day, years and years from now, this beautiful new bridge will give way to yet another generation: something newer, shinier, sturdier and more reliable. Someday, this new bridge will be the elder; the once respected, relied-upon stalwart, now forgotten and ignored.

How do we change this? Do we need to? Maybe that’s just the way things are.

The old bridge, the old guard, holds all the stories. And this new bridge wouldn’t—couldn’t—exist without it. Because the old bridge paved the way for all that would come after it.

This new bridge—this shining symbol of innovation and technology--owes everything to the old bridge. The problem? The new bridge never had a chance to watch its predecessor in action and "see how it was done" before the new bridge was put into service.

Maybe someday the new bridge will have some time to look at that old bridge and see something it can appreciate and respect. Because that old bridge did what it was asked for so many years. It showed up every day. It did its job. And it set the stage--the standard--for that new bridge and all new bridges to follow.

© 2025 David R. Haznaw