A few months back, I got to visit one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen — Muir Woods — home to mighty redwoods for who knows how many centuries. Staring up at these trees, I could not comprehend what it meant that many of them had already been standing tall for over five hundred years in one place, growing ring by ring, year by year. And all this before any of us had ever even arrived on the planet.
I keep returning to photos of these venerable trees, at time when my life feels in flux. As I fret about what I’m doing with my life, wonder if I’ll ever find another job that fits, wonder if I’m frittering away my existence while I do things like paint the basement of our old house — as my husband and I try to figure out where we fit in this town, and as celebrations of birthdays and weddings and the grieving of passing life happen in discomforting proximity, in all these things – all my flux – there’s the reminder of trees.