People so often complain (myself included) about how they are unhappy with their position in life, their scenery, their company; their situations. I felt this so strongly this past week from nothing in particular, but everything in general.
My dear friend was visiting and upon feeling this way, we wandered into the canyon. I swear to you, it could have been a black and white postcard we were in. The trees are dusted in snow and if you squint your eyes, everything looks like an old photograph, with our colorful jackets sticking out like pins in a map. I needed something to put everything in perspective- something vast and magnificent. I have a need to feel this small so that I can remember that the world doesn't revolve around the cost of my rent or what I will do for work in a month.
I think about the death of a season, the end of a year of all it's twists and turns. When the snow falls, I think of the slowness of turning a corner and taking your time observing. I think of movements and the rhythm of my snowshoes through the powder. Seasons take their time. In the spring, the snow will start to melt and underneath the heaviness, the grass will start to grow. I think loss is put in your life to uproot one thing and let the other parts begin.
As I think about this year as a whole, I think about a lot of loss. I lost a community, a feeling of home, a sense of direction, all those things that make up comfort. When I think of this year, I also think about a lot of growth. I found homes in people that I met, discovered community in a neighborhood that took me in like family, and I'm not sure that I ever found a solid direction, but I just went until I couldn't go further, then chose something different. All of this has shaped me into a person I'm not sure I would recognize a year ago. And I thought about these things when I trekked up the hill and it looked like a snowglobe around me. And I thought about these things as I ducked under pine branches and smelled winter in the sap that caught in my hair. And I thought about these things when I sat in the truck eating a handful of clementine oranges, music turned up too high and snowflakes floating onto the console through the open door.
I thought about loss and growth and the shaping of a person's soul over a lifetime and how the heart can get calloused because of what life hands you; the loss that it can bare on your shoulders. I thought about all of the people I know that I believe have had it more painful than the rest, and that many, if not most of them, have decided to love regardless, instead of taking a calloused heart.
The only thing more tragic than a tragedy is what you do with it. And though loss is not easy, a new season is coming.