We were pressed for time. Again. While my son finished dressing and filling his backpack, I put a plate of fried eggs and toast on the table. Orange juice next to it. I paced a little.
I hate running late.
He swallowed down breakfast and gulped the juice, grabbed his things, asked for the car keys, and off we went on the usual morning dash to school.
My stomach was in a knot, hoping the lights would be in our favor, that we wouldn’t be stuck behind a slow moving truck, that maybe, just maybe, we’d make it on time.
He was quiet. I was quiet. It was another night of studying until 2am, and five hours of sleep isn’t enough. Not for him. My mind was already ticking through every task on my daily plate, also on five hours of sleep. But for me, that’s sufficient. I know my body’s rhythms; my capacity to reason and communicate would remain crisp, even if my limbs were weary.
Yes, I thought. I’ll be okay today. But what about my son?
He had protested this morning about going to school. His homework was done, but he was exhausted. He can’t see the forest for the trees right now. He’s in the thick of it – this hectic, pressurized, difficult place. Goals aren’t forgotten, but they fade from view when you can’t seem to find your way out.
“Can’t I stay home?” he asked.
I hesitated. For a number of reasons, I wanted to say yes. I wanted him to crawl back into bed, to sleep, and then spend the afternoon in other, calmer activities. But that isn’t where we are. I had to stand firm.
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
As we were riding to school, traffic was uneventful and delays were few until we were about a mile from the building. We hit a long red light in the heart of a heavily wooded neighborhood. I turned and stared out the window. This is a street I’ve traveled hundreds of times in the past years. On both sides of us was a mass of towering pines, oaks, and elms, a thicket of brambles and weed, downed limbs with their decaying arms and branches of browning leaves.
The forest, I thought. Beautiful.
But it is also a treacherous place where you lose your bearings. It’s so easy to trip, to fall. To wander in circles.
Then I saw it, just as the red light turned to green and we were moving again. A speck of lavender, some sort of wild flower blooming in the tangle of trees.
Perhaps I imagined it because I needed to see it. Perhaps it was real, with more beyond my view.
Oh I love a moment like that when I see something of beauty that momentarily takes my mind off my stress and allows me to breathe. That happened to me yesterday when I was feeling uptight about my first day of class and noticed the balmy breezes caressing my skin. It totally changed my mood.
@Molly – A balmy breeze will definitely do it!
@TE – Ah, worrying about the other trees, yes. The mother’s dilemma? And good advice, one task at a time.
That flower sounds like a true treasure – a moment of hope in the midst of a forest.
I am a forest and tree person – and yet I have a hard time focusing on the tree that is me – too focused on the other trees and the forest at large. *sigh* I am changing that one branch at a time.
I can’t imagine that kind of homework or pressure. Your son and you just have to keep moving forward, one step at a time. “just this” and then… “Just this” again… and it will end at some point… or so I keep telling myself.
Here’s hoping your son catches such a glimpse today. (This raising-a-teen stuff is so hard.)
You got that right, Jane. I know you know. 🙂
It’s those unexpected glimmers that helps us move forward. It definitely gives you the courage to take that next step.
If only we could do this more often, to find the beauty around us when we’re waiting at a red light, or waiting in line, or waiting for our spouse. Instead it’s so easy to get impatient, to let that knot in your stomach grow, the fidget and sigh and work yourself into a tizzy. But you’ve inspired me here – I’ll look for the forest today.
I take from your words today the wisdom in knowing that sometimes, there is more than we can see.
Man do I know this feeling of wanting to let my kids stay home when they haven’t had enough sleep. But we can’t see the flowers when we’re not out living.
I’m hearing your words today…you gotta be walking, or driving, or living, to see the beauty around you unfold.
(Then go to bed early.)
Unfortunately, my kid is in a meat grinder right now – and more to come. But it was nonetheless a brief reminder for me, that something lovely can appear when you least expect. Even if only a moment’s respite, and a bit of perspective.
Thank goodness for the flowers. How could we possibly make it through the daily grind otherwise? And I am such a tree person. I am hardly ever able to see the forest. Never have been good at it. Maybe that’s why I get smacked on the had by figurative (and literal) branches all the time. Another reason to be thankful for the flowers! =>
I know I haven’t been commenting much, but I read you almost every day. Just wanted you to know.
I heart you Natalie. Hope all is well in BoingerLand.
I love this Wolf—and especially on Rosh Hashana. It’s right when Abraham is about to sacrifice his kid, and the angel calls out to stop him, that he sees the ram caught up in the thicket—the lavender in the bramble. Patriarchy and dogmatism aside, the poetry in the thicket cuts closest to my own heart, one that has tended to only glimpse the forest through fallen trees.
We need to find the poetry in the thicket. But it’s hard, isn’t it. Happy New Year, Bruce.
Thank goodness for the red stoplight. Without it you may have never noticed the flower…which, if it looks like your photo, is a purple coneflower (echinacea). A little bit of beauty in a tangled forest. Yes, a life analogy.
I gave my kids a few *mental health days* during their school year to use when they were feeling overwhelmed and strung out…with the stipulation that the privilege wasn’t abused or used for recreational purposes. They used a couple of them every year and I think it helped get them focused and back on track.
Gosh I don’t feel like I can find a comment worthy of the beauty of this post. It’s often when I am so focused on the trees that I run myself ragged. It’s good to get perspective. I was rushing, rushing the other day – late home from work trying to get the little one to soccer practice. He arrived 40 minutes late. The world didn’t crumble. Sometimes you have to let go and let be what is meant to be.