On Wanting To

This tree, over and over.

Usually, I mention this tree in connection with scattering Cooper’s ashes, but it’s more than that. This tree, this hillside, were my favorite before we spread Cooper’s ashes on the wind and ground of this land. The gnarled maple, the sentinel, was the site of weiner roasts and family walks. On breezy spring days, this maple heard our mushroom-induced anticipation as we walked past, making our way up the hill. This sentinel has kept watch over the valley for decades, but it’s grown fragile. Fallen limbs litter the ground, a deepening split snakes its way up the trunk, and the entire uphill side is gone. Dead.

Even so, this tree represents hope–hope I desperately crave. How?

It made me want to take a photo.

Today was cards day with the Tuesday Tinkerbells, and we played at Mom and Dad’s house. I was home by 6:30, but found myself back on the road 30 minutes later. The closer I got to home, the more I felt called to the farm, to the hill. I watched the sky in my rearview mirror as the haze gave way to the beginnings of a beautiful sunset. I have a picture in my mind–the picture–of that maple tree, and it involves sunset.

I’m also paranoid that tree will fall in the next storm.

So, I came home, rounded up the gear I’d need, made sure the flashes would talk to each other, and headed back to the farm. I kept an eye on the setting sun and planned my flash placement as I drove, knowing sunsets are slippery–somehow gradually sudden–and I wouldn’t have time to fool around.

Because my parents are the best parents I can imagine, Mom had the gate open and Dad had my 4-wheeler ready. I hopped out of my car, grabbed my gear, and took off.

Things didn’t go exactly as planned; I picked up my camera by the big, heavy lens, and they came apart. I was left holding the lens while the camera (flash attached) landed on the ground. Shit. The only damage (thankfully) was to the hot shoe, which snapped off with the flash. The camera works. The flash works. They don’t work together.

A problem for after sunset.

No, things didn’t go exactly as planned, but they went. I went. I took pictures. Not the pictures I’d imagined, but I took pictures. That tree made me want to take pictures.

I wanted to enjoy my hobby. It’s been a while.

I’ve learned to take advantage of wanting to; I’ve spent many months wishing I wanted to do anything, so when there’s a chance at joy and fulfillment, I’ll absolutely drive another hour, burn three more gallons of gas.

I’ve always been able to entertain myself, to find happiness in seemingly small things. The past year has made me work for that happiness, and I have to work hard.

Loss of interest in things once pleasurable. Big red flag for depression, but of course I’m depressed. I honestly don’t know how I could be any other way. So I work at it.

Sometimes, I work hard enough and sometimes, I’m lucky. Sometimes, the sun sets through the haze and the sky turns purple. Sometimes, I spend an hour on the floor teasing baby belly laughs out of a new cousin. Sometimes, I spend an afternoon with a friend or a group of friends, maybe laughing, maybe crying, definitely loving. Sometimes, I spend time in my classroom, planning for another fresh start.

Finding moments of happiness requires conscious effort and the happiness is often brief. Even so, it serves as an analgesic to this heartache I carry. I’m not yet used to having to work at happiness, but I’m trying. Today, trying looked like going and doing, even though I was tired. Today, the picture in my mind was enough to make me want to give it a shot.

I’ll go to sleep tonight thinking of that picture–the picture I didn’t take. The idea of that photo–of creating something I’ve so far only imagined–will stay with me. I’ll be back on that hill, gear in hand, until I make the picture or the tree falls.

Tonight, I’m thankful for a dying maple tree that is so much more than a tree.