On Creation & Old Trees

Creation is a funny thing: concentration improves with age, but imagination (an essential ingredient) wanes. It is a muscle not unlike the gluteus maximus or the biceps femoris. Imagination requires a wide array of highly individualized nourishment. Some, like myself, prefer nature (trees and water, specifically). Others find their muse in bourbon, animals, museums, watercolors, rivers, and clouds. image

It is hard to say why trees inspire me the way they do: maybe their versatility, resilience, properties of regeneration, and magnificence. Every growing thing starts off as a small seed, and trees are a quintessential example of this tremendous change. I hope the arc of my life will one day show such a grand spectrum of experience.

Sometimes, I want to go back in time, revisit my languid days of idle leisure to bottle up as much sleep and boredom as I can possibly handle. Life is so full now, sleeping late and ennui are rare occurrences. So as I am approaching the youth of my middle age (it is nearly 6 months from my 30th birthday after all) it is interesting to reflect on the creations of my life so far. There are fewer moments of quiet awe when I am infused with ideas. My moments of astonishment are usually accompanied by shrieks of joy from my son’s first steps and new tastes; my days are immediate, noisy with streaks of peanut butter, wonder and tears.

I can’t go back in time, and I don’t really want to (well, maybe some Saturday mornings I’d like to sleep until 9). What I’ve lost in rest, I’ve gained in patience. I wasn’t meant to have my grand moments young. My life’s work at age 30 is vastly different from what I thought it would look like, but if I ponder it deeply, I know it is still important, and that greatness is possible whether I am changing a diaper or changing my perspective.

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My thoughts...

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