1.

It was a simple enough task to remove the tree from the egress window in our basement. I jumped down in my old coat and my new shoes and pulled. The tree clung, roots covered in clay and gravel, and it took all of my strength and several strenuous minutes to get it to let go. Then, I put it in the street for pickup with no small sense of sadness. I still do not understand why the tree grew there, under the plastic cover meant to keep too many leaves and too much detritus from collecting by our window. But it did. It grew tall and strong and was soon to burst from the cover. For practicality, but also for aesthetic, it had to go. Not seeing it there, balanced symmetrically between the pane edges, has made the room where I spend most of my time feel less alive.

2.

My uncle called, and texted, and called others and texted others. Could I help him with a tree job? That is, would I spend a day with him so that, in his weakened state, he could make some money on the side in my home town, tearing down a tree? For many years, he made his living as a ranger and a tree expert. I would only be needed as a second pair of hands. I made excuses for my late responses, and lied that I would not be able to fit it into my schedule. Fortunately, after my refusal, he responded that he did have a backup. My relief lasted only briefly. My younger cousin would act in my stead. Only my feelings toward my uncle, my fractured sense of generosity, kept me from helping. I need no compensation, save gratitude, but for all my talk of willingness to help anyone in need, I refused his call. Why? I did not want to spend any time with him. He reaches out so often, and we, waspishly, recoil from his maladroit approach. Where did I learn to distance myself from my family? If I have learned so much about myself, and I dislike these habits, why do I not change them? I have no such immunity to this bullshit, as I deceive myself that I do.

3.

More so than ever, I am starting to understand how I warped my own empathy to be analytical, rather than emotional. I needed it, at first, to cope with my own pain, then used it, as artists do, to create work of greater accessibility. Today, during meditation, I started to understand how one must activate empathy; that is, the feeling needs access before the brain fully processes it. Initially, I understood the feeling, but I allowed my brain to respond to it statically, in its typical fashion. Autopilot empathy. Now, thanks to some choice descriptions of motivating one’s meditation to focus on others, I felt myself open those channels again. Have I perfected this new use? Of course not. The meditation did act as a mental version of a Feldenkrais ATM, however, and brought me to increased understanding of a less helpful mental habit that I had written off as always correct, when it qualifies more as triage.

I see trees, where once I could only see forest.

As an interesting side note, I have accused people so often of losing themselves in detail and missing the forest for the trees. I don’t know better yet, but I have opened the book and begun to read again.