Recently my daughters and I hiked in the outskirts of a small New England town. We wore no watches. Time was our friend, and our only limitation would be the setting sun.

Early in our journey, we came upon retired railroad tracks. While the rails seemed secure, the ties wore proof of nature's merciless elements. Exposed to many harsh, snowy winters, then reduced to horizontal shards of splintered wood, they were fringed with clusters of moss, lichens and an occasional flowering weed. It was anyone's guess when the very last train roared along this tree-lined passageway.

These sleepy tracks sit idle, amidst an untold story. Aimlessly we walked onward, curious travelers with nowhere to be. How refreshing. How spontaneous. How would our adventure unfold?

Our answer came serendipitously with the sight of a stately bridge in the distance. With eager anticipation, our pace quickened. In an effortless transition, the tracks eased onto and spanned the full length of the bridge. Down below, a stream filtered through gaps formed by the rocky riverbed. The breathtaking view was surpassed only by the sound of the teeming waters. At this time, on this day, there was no place any of us would rather be.

I stayed far behind as this view brought me to deep contemplation. A rusty remnant of the past, this bridge, like the railroad tracks leading to and away from it, remained a reminder of the ticking hands of time. Akin to my roller skates from childhood, no longer fit to serve their intended purpose- apart from evoking memories of where they used to take me. But unlike my old skates, this bridge retains a usefulness. While it hasn't been crossed by trains for some time, it still stands proudly, offering us the option to journey onward.

While the bridge frame appeared structurally sound, the horizontal footboards were discontinuous. The sizable distance between the thick wooden ties yielded a daunting view of the stream many feet below. Alternatively, both side edges of the bridge boasted unsecured boards that lay lengthwise. While the opportunity to cross the bridge was ours, no option guaranteed a safe passage.

Isn't that just like life?

We can walk a path well-traveled, safely bound within the lines drawn by those before us. Conversely, we can allow fate and chance to meet, and take the passage with an unpromised destination. That brings us back to the old bridge. We could effortlessly remain where we are, failing to explore the other side; so very boring and safe. Or, with our heart pounding through our chest, we could risk the unsure footing spanning the length of the bridge, and venture across to see the other side. But what if, once we have crossed over to the other end, we realize that we gained nothing by venturing this perilous throughway? So many possibilities. So much that could go wrong... or perfectly right.

Just like life.

Some of us did cross the bridge, while some didn't; it was a personal choice we each chose to make. When sunset neared, we turned back, each with our own story defined by our past and designed around our future hopes. In an interesting way, it didn't matter that the tracks and the bridge have fallen into disrepair. You see, at some point, we all will reach the sunset of our lives. We might not continue to serve our original purpose, but there is a beauty in what we will find as we explore new directions. With time, the strong-bodied men who laid the tracks and built the bridge eventually grew too weak to swing a sledgehammer. Still, they engineered new purpose in their lives. We all should.

I've always believed that once our five children were grown and living on their own, I would finally forfeit my role as a conductor to become a passenger on this ride we call life. I planned on learning to sit still for long enough to dust off and delve into all the books I never had the time to read. That might happen somewhere down the road, but my fate led me to a different destination. Instead of reading books, I wrote one. This voyage I've traveled is a migration of sorts. A story that matters; it offers hope and encouragement to those who've lost their way, are at a stand-still and fear pushing forward. It bridges the gap between following familiar paths and building bridges to fulfilling new destinations.

I love the idea of repurposing our function. Who knows where that can lead us? One thing I do know; I planted the moss and lichens that grow between the stones of the cottage path I built. I'm not one to wait for the weeds to flower...