jakorte's blog

January 11, 2012: Shock and Trees

I’ve always loved trees. Their comfort knows no season: breezy whispering green spring leaves, cool lazy summer shade, gently rustling fall leaves, even artful winter branches reaching to embrace the sun. Thematic, you’ll find them all over my house and me. I tend to stick to earth tones. Love big open fields dotted with solitary trees. Even though solitary implies alone and trees references plurality, I’m most interested in the ones that are significantly far away from each other; way far enough away to never run the risk of casting or standing in each other’s shadows.

Q: How much time do you spend thinking about Jeff?
A: Blink, blink. (Silence.) Blink! None. I spend time thinking about me; me without Jeff, me lonely, me unsatisfied with my life, me depleted.
Q: When was the last time you just sat and thought about him?
A: I can’t remember. Oh, my GOD. I can’t remember the last time I just sat down and thought about Jeff.
Q: If Jeff could speak to you right now about your life what would he say?
A: He’d say, “We talked about this. You’re better off without me. This isn’t what I wanted for you. I want you to be happy. Get going.”
Q: You just need to find your happy place…
A: My happy place is buried under a ton of shit. That poses a problem. I think this is “it”: I’ve lost my sense of self, I guess.

And through the awful quiet of expectations, cerebral contemplations and held breaths, keeping pace with the ticking of time, a shocking calm mists in. In the diminishing wake of lost momentum, the surface smoothes, mirroring up a stunning unspoken conclusion, reflecting a shocking truth I never considered:

The problem isn’t that I no longer have Jeff.
The problem is that I no longer have me.

A little more about oak trees… the wind may have the strength to take their leaves, but most often it does not. Contrary to appearance, they push their leaves off, purposely deciding when to let go. In a conscious release, when the timing is right, when the possibilities are most fertile, the oak lets go; casting off what is no longer useful, and with a last rush of soon to be dormant energy whispers to them “Go.”

The suggestion I walk in the woods to observe and reconsider makes therapeutic sense, and sounds strangely appealing even though it’s cold and winter. I head home knowing I won’t do it, but hopeful that imagery might work. The barely there wind rustles late summer leaves and I am in a peaceful place. Every direction from this spot is wide open; a huge bright green canvas of unexplored territory and arrhythmic, celebratory confetti-bursts of wildflowers. Above, wheel-spoke clouds provide shadow-line paths; possibilities radiating away from this place, encouraging exploration.

It comes to me then. What I need to work on is forgetting who I once wanted to be.
Just do what I have to do. Take what I can get. Get by. Have no expectations. Stay out of trouble.
Oh, yeah… and probably not read quite so many romance novels.