The Other Side

Early last summer, as I was contemplating leaving my full-time day job in marketing and PR, I often visited my favorite canal path for a walk or jog.  I had many an introspective conversation here about my dreams and the fears that kept me from reaching for them, and this particular day was no exception. I was so lost in thought that I nearly tripped over the long, brown snake who had stretched himself across the path.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeek!!!!!," I screeched, clumsily twisting my legs backward to avoid stepping on scales more nightmarish than the bathroom variety (it was a close call).  I may respect all animals, but I still don't enjoy being startled by them.  Especially snakes and spiders.  

He cautiously shifted his head in my direction, eying me up. 

"Oh.  Hello there.  Sorry for disturbing you.  Would you mind moving forward so I can get across and be out of your way?"  I knew I'd best be polite.

I heard the words, step over me, in my mind's ear.  Step over him?  Seriously?

"Umm....Well, you see....I'd rather....not." 

Go on.  Step over me.  

I hesitated.  This was a snake I was conversing with, after all. 

It's always greener on the other side.  Just step forward.  You'll see.

Great.  The snake sage was forcing me to engage with him for nothing more than uber-cliched advice.  I knew that the grass was greener on the other side.  I'd heard it said a thousand times over--though I much preferred hearing it from other sources.  Couldn't the animal kingdom have sent a little fuzzy bunny to convey this completely non-profound adage to me?

I quickly evaluated my options.  1).  Go for a short swim.  2).  Risk that the "three" I saw on the ground along the wooded side of the path weren't the kind I was supposed to "let be."  3).  Oblige a reptile who was not only giving me permission to walk over him, but requesting that I do so. 

Crap.

And so I stepped, slowly and deliberately, watching to be sure this unexpected slithery stranger didn't intend to scare the bejeezus out of me with a quick movement.  Or a lunge toward my ankle.

He didn't.  He didn't so much as flinch.  That actually wasn't so bad.

I turned around to thank him for our encounter and say goodbye, and was stunned to see a glistening yellowish green creature looking back toward me.  It was impossible to be fearful of something so cheerfully bright.  I moved closer to examine his magnificence.

Told you!, he said, beaming.   

I'd been so afraid of pushing past the "vile" in my life that I was unable to envision the beauty that lied on the other side of it--or the vantage point I could obtain from that new position.  But once I recognized that beauty, the ugliness of the fence was no longer scary to me.

I guess it did require a snake to get the message through to me after all.