What I See Before Me: A Reframe

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I see a landscape before me. There are two hanging ferns swaying slightly from the plant hook. There’s the tree lichen covering a giant oak like body armor or frosting, or caked mud. There are cars in my driveway, at rest and dusty. There’s the granola bar wrapper at the edge of the driveway, dropped there by one of my pet raccoons, who I suspect lives under my shed. There goes my neighbor off in their car, maybe driving a kid to swim practice. I hear crows, and yet another plane passes by high up, though not high enough — it’s loud.

But this is only one way of looking at what’s in front of me. I have plenty of options for how to see it. Here’s another.

I see a landscape in front of me, and it’s not pretty. There are piles of half-raked tree branches sitting around. I have yet to load them into the wheelbarrow and cart them off. Those ferns are nice, yeah, but I need to water them — yet again. What a pain. Another thing to add to my list. And will that raccoon ever stop leaving the trash around?? Clean up after yourself, dude! Speaking of clean, why do I even get my car washed? It just gets dirty again by the end of the week. Is that lichen killing the tree? I’m going to look that up online. These trees will be the death of us; I just know it. If one of them falls, it’s lights out for whoever’s under it — my house, or me. You can’t win in life.

Of course, this is just one of hundreds of options for perspective. Let’s pick another.

Look at all this. Green, yes, but also dying endlessly. Nothing is for certain. Nothing is cheering me on. You’re on your own in this world. We work hard to own one of those cars that take us to the store to buy things we don’t need, and it’s all killing the earth in the end. Did I really need to buy those ferns? Like, I buy them, hang them on a plant hook until they perish come mid-Fall, and I hardly ever look at them. I adapt to their presence and fail to see them much after a couple of weeks. I take them for granted. I take so much for granted, and this is how it is with human existence. First, fun and excitement. Then, a blur and off to find the next thrill. The ever-grinding hedonic wheel.

Oh, my. That’s quite the vantage point. Let’s choose a different one.

Wow, it’s so nice sitting outside, working on my laptop, taking this scene in. It’s getting warmer for sure, but I still have the mornings to enjoy this beloved spot of mine. I sit in this chair in the afternoons, and the other chair around back in the mornings, per the sun’s location behind the shade of the house. Could I be more fortunate than sitting here as the trees envelop me, focusing on work I love, temps perfect with a dreamy breeze, sipping my coffee? I doubt it. I’m beyond lucky, and I forget this often, but I don’t want to, so I’m going to try to notice more. I feel it’s pure ethical logic that the more fortunate I am, the more it’s my responsibility to realize it.

Not bad. I like shopping around for differing views. Let’s see here . . .

Today is precious, and this is made obvious as I sit here in my blue Costco Adirondack, a smallish, fleeting creature situated at the base of these towering, old oaks. They’ve seen far more than I have, although I know different things, and there’s no way to compare or truly know the other’s experience. Still, I feel bad that this tree has no idea how nice breathable cotton bedsheets are. But whaddaya gonna do? Meanwhile, I sit with my gratitude and get to work on this laptop because today is another day, a gift, a rarity on the list of riches I did nothing to obtain but must do everything to appreciate. Thus, I’ve just decided that the pile of half-raked tree branches can sit for another day, and it won’t bother me at all. When I know what’s important — and accept that — I can let things go and appreciate today.

Hmm. I like where this is going. Let’s check out one final viewpoint.

I see a landscape, and there is a richness here that’s hard to describe. There is greenery. There is my intention to get work done. There is my great fortune to have this time and space. There is what’s come before, and who knows what is to come. I’m happy to have this home and those dusty cars. I enjoy raking my yard and being productive. I’m glad to discover that lichen on a tree isn’t a worry. I figure I’ll ask an arborist if I need to address any dangerous trees. Once I finish my work here, I’ll go inside and get some lunch. I wonder if there’s a way for me to give back today? Can I help someone in need, perhaps? How will I be mindful that my presence can be one of two things — helpful or harmful? Which do I choose? How do I keep this choice in mind when the emotions come fast and strong, and my mind tells me without any doubt that saying what is on my mind is warranted? The mind is so sure of itself sometimes, or often. How do I give myself grace when I don’t realize that? How do I give others grace when they don’t? How will I live this day?

I’m not sure, but I’ll know tonight. One thing’s for certain, though. There is always a landscape before me, and there are endless ways to see it.

Which do I choose?

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Have a nice rest of your week, friends.