But There’s Nothing There

I have a beautiful bedroom that is my sanctuary. Part of what makes this room special to me is this huge window that looks out onto this majestic border of enormous trees that surround my property. These trees must hold tremendous history and have withstood countless seasons over time. They have survived hurricanes that easily wiped out their sisters and brothers. They make up the frame that is the watercolor of our home. I can luxuriously stare at them all day. Sometimes when I read outside within their protective aura, I can’t even concentrate on my book because the pull towards these trees is so powerful that I can’t look at anything but them. I swear they talk to me sometimes, and when they rustle in the breeze it’s some kind of message. I used to get very depressed when my beautiful trees became barren in the winter. I dreaded it. The view that was once so invigorating felt like death. Lush to bleak. Vibrant green to gray. Not so fun. In this way, my room felt a little less soothing, now that I had to stare at anorexic, sad branches that must have felt as desolate as I did. The winter months were something to endure as opposed to enjoy. The other day as I looked out of this window, it hit me that I am not only not saddened by the current state of the trees, but that I now find it beautiful. My mood is no longer affected by this sight. The emptiness now means that there’s space for something magnificent to come. The absence will lead to wonderful fullness, at the right time. Blank spaces are so giving in that regard; they naturally afford us the opportunity to fill them up however we like. Compare this to making a party. When you reserve an already decorated space you are working with the venue’s decor. Sure, you might save money on bringing in furniture and lighting, but most likely the carpet they have is industrial and ugly, and the lighting sucks. Decorating a blank space requires more work and execution, but you can make it look and feel exactly in accordance with your vision. You can mold it with no limitations. That last month of pregnancy feels so excruciating on the body, but the excitement of what’s to come is uncontainable. It’s the seemingly hard phase that always leads to the best one. Obviously my view of the trees now symbolizes promise to me instead of sadness because of my inner change. I arrived at that place organically, and it felt so nice to just realize it out of the blue. The situation brought on by the nature of winter is the same as it’s always been; it’s me that’s different. I’m seeing the same thing from an entirely new, easier angle. Bare branches? Great. The leaves will grow when they’re ready, as all things will.