Bridges over lava

From my Watercolour sketchbook 

One of the quiet gifts of working with children, especially teenagers, is the way they speak about life. Something is charming in their honesty, in the images they choose, in how naturally they make sense of things adults often struggle to name. Sometimes, without trying, they explain life better than those who have spent years learning how to write about it.

Today, a 16-year-old boy sat across from me in the counselling room. He came seeking help to strengthen a friendship. Nothing unusual about that. It’s a common problem in a school counselling room. But the way he spoke stayed with me.

At some point, I asked him to explain how this friendship felt.

He said he feels like he is standing on a platform. Below him is lava – boiling and dangerous. The only way to move from one place to another is by crossing bridges. These bridges connect him to the people in his life. He doesn’t have many, as he said, but most of them are strong and steady. There is one bridge, though, that feels unstable. That is where his fear lives.

That was his answer.

It felt complete. I don’t think it needed anything more.

We drew the image together on paper because I wanted to sit with it longer, to understand it better. The session went well, I think. It will continue. But even after I left the room, the image stayed with me.

Because I recognised it.

There are times when this is exactly how life feels to me too. As though everything below is lava, and every connection requires care. You have to watch where you step. You can’t afford to be careless. A mistake burns.

Over the years, I have built many bridges of my own. A few are strong and reliable. Many are weaker – still standing, but only with effort and attention. Some are cracked. Some have already collapsed. A few have been forgotten altogether. And some, mercifully, have safety nets beneath them, built slowly over time, so that even if I lose my footing, I don’t fall all the way through.

During our conversation, we spoke about effort. About how sometimes it is easy to cross a bridge, and how sometimes it is exhausting just to reach the other side. Some bridges hang so low that you can almost feel the heat of the lava rising beneath your feet.

But we also spoke about what it means to stay where you are. About how standing on the platform for too long can be tiring in its own way. Safe, perhaps. But unmoving. Alone.

We arrived, gently, at the understanding that bridges matter. That, without them, we remain stuck. That while not every bridge is worth crossing, some are. Sometimes, the effort is necessary. And sometimes, choosing safety is too.