I’ve always loved trees. I love the way they smell, the way they feel under my finger tips, how they can set the mood and how they feed my romanticism.
When I was a kid I read everything that Tolkien had written. I absorbed it like water on a sponge. I fell in love with the forests and elves and I swore my ears were just pointed enough to imply that I was of elvish decent. I wrote weird squiggles all over my notebooks and pretended that it was elvish. I was obsessed. In my mind tree= elven home = childhood fantasy fulfilled.
Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I sneak out and go sit in the woods. Normal teenagers sneak out to go get drunk and have sex. Actually, whenever I get a spare moment and no one is home, I go sit outside and think.
I have this tree. It is my tree. It overhangs a small valley and it’s just low enough for me to be able to climb and not die. There is this perfect dip in one of the branches and it fits my butt perfectly. I have the perfect view of everything, and it’s amazing.
And in the still silence, because I’ve scared everything off within a 20 mile radius, I close my eyes and breathe. I inhale peace and exhale stress. If I’m particularly wistful I will pretend I’m an elvish scout, or perhaps an elvish princess, or something magic and beautiful. But only when my guard is down, only when I know that no one will see me, only when I need an escape will I let reality go. I would run to my tree and pretend everything away.
Or I used to.
I went to my tree and found splinters of old wood, a gaping hole where roots once lived, and a sense of loss.
I suppose I shouldn’t care that much, it was only a tree after all (I get too emotional, you know. ‘Too emotional to date’, actually). I was concerned, confused; bewildered essentially. Where will I hide now?
After I got over my confusion, I took a good long look at the roots of the tree, and the most profound but obvious thing occurred to me: Roots are everything. Without them you are nothing.
And then I thought about this stupid poem I had to write freshman year about where I’m from and where I’m going. Then I thought about this parable in the Bible the quality of soil and how if you don’t have good soil, nothing will grow. Something in my brain clicked then.
I’m the sort of person that bases a lot on relationships: friends, family, boyfriends, ect.
People are like soil and my love/friendship is somewhat like a seed.
So, I walk around and throw my seeds at people who are like hardened soil and they bounce right off. I might as well be throwing cotton balls at a brick wall. I generally leave the hardened soil alone. People who are unresponsive to me waste my time.
Then I move on to something I call Georgia soil, because if you live here you know that if you plant something it will grow well for a while but then it dies really fast. Georgia soil is really red mud, so you know. These are promising people, people who look awesome and have so much potential. Then, after my seeds are thrown, they begin to die. They bloom with joy and die quickly. We’re close, we’re happy, we hate each other.
Then there is good soil. (I couldn’t think of a good metaphor for the weeds. Well, not one I really want to blog about.) The good soil is well….good. Love and friendship grows and everything is awesome. Whoo!
But every gardener knows that weeds will pop up in the best of yards. You resolve the problem; you pull the weeds and move on. When another one pops up, you pull it out and repeat.
I say all of that to say this: I need roots.
I need people of good soil quality. I have a few, and I love them dearly.
I have family roots. I have friendship roots. I have…..
Roots?
It has occurred to me that everyone was completely right about me being selfish. It dawned on me that I am responsible for how I make people feel, I am responsible for how I treat them, and the entire world does not really revolve around me.
I know, I know. It’s sort of late for me to be realizing this. I mean, I knew all of this on some level, but it really sunk in.
I have been self absorbed, I have been rude, I have been needy and awful. I’m that ugly tree that swears up and down it is THE BEST TREE EVER, in spite of all the bugs and snakes and dying leaves.
I’m sorry. I really am.
