In Too Deep

Trapped in the Emotional War of Appreciation, Serenity, and Fear

For four consecutive days, I traveled back and forth on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge for work. The first day was tingling with fear, but by the third day, my nerves had settled. I found myself appreciating the ingenuity, engineering, and leadership that made such a bridge possible.
Still, I was eager to move inland—away from the water.

So, on Friday, when it was time to pack my bags and head for higher ground, I couldn’t wait. At 5 AM, I was up and ready to go.

The roughly two-hour drive (107 miles) from Chesapeake, VA, to Richmond, VA, was pleasant and relaxing. I appreciated the serenity and admired the lush, fully bloomed trees that lined both sides of the highway like a living tunnel.

I rode in silence, but my mind was blabbing.

After passing Richmond, the road narrowed and the woods thickened. The towns I drove through were small, almost deserted. They reminded me of an African village emptied from 6 AM to 6 PM, because everyone is off farming to earn their living.

I, too, was out driving through these quiet towns to earn my living. The parallel struck me deeply.

I stopped to use the restroom in one of those towns and saw some senior citizens sitting at slot machines—at 8 AM. They were engaged in conversation and seemed content.
I caught myself judging and quickly pushed back:
“These men have put in their time. They can do whatever they feel. You just focus on your own.”

An hour later, I arrived at my first location. No houses, no people in sight—but there was temporary traffic nearby, which eased my nerves. It was good to know someone might show up if I had an emergency.

I completed my installation and prepared for the next—the last for the week.

When I opened the location on my phone, the map showed me deep in the heart of Virginia. I was just above Lynchburg, smack in the triangular middle of Roanoke, Richmond, and Charlottesville. Yes, that Charlottesville—the “Unite the Right” rally city. The map was dark green, signaling how remote the area was.
I copied the GPS coordinates and pasted them into Google Maps. It was 14 minutes away.

The road narrowed further. No towns. Just scattered homes.
About half a mile from my destination, the road twisted, dipped, and led me downhill into the heart of Buckingham County.

At the foot of the hill, I found the flag marking the spot. Anxious to get started, I opened the installer app to scan and connect my devices to the back office.
No internet on my FirstNet-powered work phone.
I checked my personal phone—iOS powered. SOS mode.

I didn’t panic from fear—but from frustration. I instantly recognized the dip in my energy. I smiled and made the conscious decision to raise my vibration.

“There is meaning in this. Relax. Find the meaning. Solve the problem,” I told myself.

I walked around, phones pointed skyward, hoping to catch a signal.
After 20 minutes, about 20 yards away in a tiny clearing at the foot of the hill, I caught a faint signal.
Still, every attempt to scan my materials failed.

I got in my truck and drove deeper into Nelson County in search of a signal. About two miles away, I found a fire station that looked abandoned. There was no sign of life. I wasn’t even sure if there was a functional fire truck inside the garage.

I parked in the yard, hoping the open area would yield stronger reception.
It didn’t.
I was uneasy—nervous—wandering around such a deserted place.

As I got back in the truck to leave, my eyes caught sight of a box.
It, too, looked abandoned.
But the inscription on it seized my attention.

I summoned the courage to check if it held supplies.
It did.
I was amazed.

“Who supplies this box?”
“Who in this forest of private land needs this?”
“Could something like this exist in the inner city?”

My mind ejected question after question.

I was uncomfortable for many reasons, so I jumped in the truck and drove off in search of a signal.

“But why am I afraid?” I asked myself.

I reasoned: I was deep in the woods, in an unfamiliar place, with no people in sight—and no access to the virtual world.

As I drove away from that box and the fire station hidden in the forest, it hit me:
I tingled at the sight of water.
And I trembled in the serenity of the woods.

Back at the work site, a deer emerged from the woods and stared at me.
In its silence, it questioned my fear.
It reminded me to find meaning in everything—to appreciate each circumstance as part of a bigger design.
”All things are cooperating for my good,” I reminded myself
”The only thing I am truly “in too deep” is… my mind.” I laughed and carried on with my work.

Two miles up the hill, I found a strong signal and completed my installation.

When I was finished with what I was in the bush to do, I drove off in absolute appreciation of the experience and giggled at the absurdity of the fear that attempted to rob me of the beauty that was the entire experience.