Windblown
All the trees in our yard have a distinct lean to them. Years of buffeting by the southeasterly winds have bent them all to its will. One of the chinquapins we planted is now so sturdy of trunk that no effort on my part can shake the tree, but there it is, leaning to the soft persistence of a breeze. It’s the same with the burr, its branches stand out like banners in the wind, even when there is no wind.
And it occurs to me that I too have been shaped by breezes, the breezes of my life. I made accommodations to the pressures of childhood, marriage, business, religion, and parenting, bending to the winds of their needs and desires. For the longest time, I bent because I thought I had to, even when it was uncomfortable, but then I discovered that unlike the tree, occasionally I was free to choose. It happened when I came to understand that a lot of forces in my life were merely masquerading as the wind.
Now, here I am doing my final self-inventory, picking at myself trying to figure out what bits and pieces I want to keep for whatever time is left to me. It’s amazing how little I care about things I used to care a great deal about. It’s peaceful and there’s a certain simplicity to it all, derived I believe from understanding that I’m doing the best I can while still figuring out what the best actually is.