Sometimes all we can see are the old and broken parts; the decay feels more obvious. But if we pull ourselves away from looking at our feet there is so much wonder in the world around us. I’ve been walking/hiking/running these trails for over two years now; for a long time it was daily, now it’s typically two to three times a week, but I realized the other day that I was looking up more. For those first two years I was in survival mode. Things were not good. I was disillusioned, angry. My runs were rage runs. My walks fraught with angry and frustrated internal conversations. Frequently my inner voices resulted in tears… while making my way through this amazing forest.
I’m still angry, but less so. I don’t know if I’m letting go of it, or if the distance that I’ve imposed and the boundaries that I am now more forcefully defending are the reason, probably some of each. But it struck me on yesterday’s walk that I am starting to see the world around me a bit more clearly, appreciating things more fully.
I realize that I look down while walking, so that I don’t trip over things on the trails…I also do it elsewhere though, maybe because I am usually deep in thought while I am walking? I don’t know. But it’s also kind of a metaphor I suppose; if we always look at our feet while we move through our environment then we don’t see the wonder of the things going on around us and the potential for happiness that might be on a slightly different, and less travelled, path.
There are still things that make me angry, but they are less about the things that are affecting my sanity and now more about the things that are affecting the happiness of others that I care about and respect. Happiness is a fickle thing. We think that it comes from this or that, and we head down paths in search of it. Maybe it’s a job, maybe it’s money, there are so many things that we think will make us happy. And sometimes we find ourself in a spot and realize that we are anything but happy. It can be a pivotal moment, or it can be a hole that we free-fall into.
Someone once said to me, when I was free-falling down a very dark chasm, that when you are in a hole you can lie down and let it become your grave, or you can claw your way out and find a new way forward. Or something to that effect.
But her point was simple, If you are miserable, change something. If you don’t, you should expect more of the same and you have made a choice to live with it. What that change entails may be radical, or it may be something simple, it depends on the circumstances.
It’s never too late to learn something new, to go back to something old, or to just look up at the trees and appreciate their strength to withstand so much. I look at the trees as these largely impervious objects, firmly and deeply grounded, unaffected by all but the strongest gusts. But then I consider the limbs that have been broken by heavy snow or heavy winds. I take into account the water that rushes through in heaven rains and undermines their thick trunks. I remember the droughts that have stressed their physiology and made them susceptible to damage by looper moths and other insects.
But they remain.
They are older, they are weathered and scarred, they are the ultimate stoics.
They are kind of inspiring when I think about them that way.
We are not fixed in one location the way the trees are though. We can change our environment and improve things when things need improving. Sometimes that choice is difficult; in the end the result can bring relief.
I don’t know why it is though…that, so often, we have to hit the bottom before we figure out how to look up and see the sky again.
This was just a quick shot with the iPhone on the walk home, but I was struck by the broken body of the old tree, still standing and providing life and shelter for creatures and other plants. Towering over that are so many younger trees, sheltering the old tree while simultaneously drawing nourishment from its slowly decaying bulk. And, below all of that, the little saplings, even from the broken top there are saplings growing…reaching and striving for the sky above, and drawing nutrients from the old-timer.
The forest is a network, each component supporting another.
We could do a better job of doing the same for others in our work lives. Think about the support you wish you had sometimes, and then try to provide that to others when you see that they need it too. Everyone needs a little help now and then.
