Crossing Rivers
Burning Bridges
There’s a Cantonese saying Joyce brought to the table that stayed with us:
过河拆桥 (guò hé chāi qiáo)
cross the river, then dismantle the bridge.
You picture someone using a bridge to cross a rushing river. They get to the safe side. They look back. Then they start removing the boards one by one so no one else can cross the way they did.
It is not just selfishness.
It is benefitting from help, then blocking help behind you.
How this shows up
in real life
We think of the river as the hard thing itself and the bridge as whatever made crossing possible.
Education
the river: access, expectations, overwhelming systems
the bridge: a teacher, tutor, or friend who showed us how it works
Career access
the river: first jobs, interviews, not knowing who to talk to
the bridge: a contact, a referral, someone who said, “Use my name”
Cultural belonging
the river: language barriers, jokes you don’t get, feeling outside
the bridge: a community that explains the rules and says, “Stay”
Finances
the river: debt, confusion, fear of doing it wrong
the bridge: someone who taught budgeting, saving, or strategy
Most of us did not build those bridges alone.
Someone helped. Someone steadied the boards while we crossed.
And the healthy response is simple:
Leave the bridge there so others can cross.
But that’s not always what happens.
Some people cross the river and then decide,
“If I had to struggle, everyone should struggle.”
Others fear,
“If too many people cross, I lose my advantage.”
So they remove the bridge.
In modern language, that often looks like gatekeeping:
being vague about how they got where they are
guarding information
refusing to mentor
pretending success is “mystery plus talent” instead of “help plus work”
Crossing the river and burning the bridge is not just unkind.
It shrinks the future.
Why don’t more people share bridges?
Burning the bridge is usually about fear.
Fear of being replaced.
Fear of becoming invisible.
Fear that someone else’s success might erase your own.
We get it.
Joe is a self-taught drummer. He learned by watching people, asking questions, and practicing until the neighbors knew the whole set list by heart.
Over time, he began to see two patterns:
There were people who opened bridges and said,
“Here’s how we learned that — try this exercise.”
And there were people who closed doors and said,
“We just practiced for years,” then changed the subject.
One posture said,
“There’s room here. Come learn.”
The other said,
“This room is only big enough for me.”
The second one often dressed itself up in excellence.
But most of the time, it was just fear and insecurity wearing shades.
Thankfully, the truth is:
Growth is not a competition with limited seats.
There is room for all of us to develop.
And in many seasons, our growth actually depends on one another’s.
What sharing
actually does
Here’s something we’ve learned again and again:
When we teach what we know,
we usually understand it more deeply afterward.
Sharing does not drain us.
It clarifies us.
And if someone takes what we offered
and goes farther than we did?
That isn’t loss.
That is progress.
Standing on shoulders instead of Burning bridges
We see this everywhere in culture.
Many Asian actors today openly name those who came before them,
people like Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Michelle Yeoh, and Lucy Liu.
They don’t pretend they arrived alone.
They recognize the bridge.
And that recognition matters. It shapes:
whether access widens or narrows
whether younger voices get space
whether opportunity grows or freezes
In the end, we all face the same decision:
We can cross the river and dismantle the bridge,
or we can cross the river and strengthen it.
One choice isolates us.
The other says, “Come with me.”
One protects a seat.
The other builds a longer table.
The world does not need fewer bridges.
The world needs more people willing to build them, leave them standing, and invite others across.
THINK ABOUT IT
Prompts for reflection or journaling
Which “river” in your life felt impossible until someone helped you see a way across?
Whose names would you write on the bridge that brought you here?
Where in your life do you feel tempted to protect access instead of share it? Why there?
What story do you tell yourself when you hesitate to mentor or open doors for others?
Picture one practical bridge you could leave standing: a contact, a tip, an introduction, a skill. What would it be?
How would your younger self have been helped by the kind of generosity you can offer now?
Where have you benefited from “unwritten rules,” and how could you name those rules for someone else?
TALK ABOUT IT
Conversation starters for dinner, a walk, or a group
Who is one person you’d thank for getting you across a major river in your life?
Have you ever noticed someone dismantling a bridge behind them? What did that do to What kinds of bridges are most needed in your community right now—information, finances, language, mentorship, belonging?
If you could mentor someone in just one area of your actual lived experience, what would you choose? Why?
What is one small “plank” of a bridge you could offer someone this month: a resource, a referral, a conversation, a skill-share?
When have you felt welcomed onto a bridge you didn’t know existed?
AFFIRMATION
From us: You didn’t get here alone, and that is not a weakness. It is proof that bridges work and that you can help build them too.
Repeat with us: I can succeed and still make room for others. My growth and their growth can exist together.