What is a Tree, Really?

  Today in art, I continued my exploration of trees. I am working with alcohol markers now, an unfamiliar medium to me. I typically enjoy the loose flow of watercolors, but I crave to learn more. Anyways, as I chose colors and laid them down as strategically as I could for my poor skillset, I began thinking of what art felt like when I was younger. 

Freer, of course. Everything does when you’re little. I tried to connect those feelings together. The first career I ever wanted was actually to be an artist. Over time I had lost that goal and switched to many different things, but in a way, that goal has come back. I wanted to feel the ease and comfort I felt as a child doing art, something my art teacher last year tried to instill in us. I fumbled with the markers, layering greens with blues and yellows, and laughed a little. It was strangely fun to not know what I was doing. 

I tried to think again; what was art like? Had it been easier, or just more carefree? Then, the question stuck on my mind all day reared itself in: when did a tree become not just a tree?

This question, though slightly hard to understand, is still stuck with me. When did everything become so complicated? When did gestures, images, and feelings become more than met the eye? The ability to analyze is a true blessing; without it, I probably wouldn’t enjoy anything as much or as critically as I do now. But the thing is, I don’t think everything has to mean something. 

As a child, I colored and drew many trees, but they were never at the forefront. They lurked in the back, adding mood and setting, and maybe some other lingering feeling I could analyze if I’d had my old art. But now, I am focusing on trees, dead in the eye, and trying to strengthen my very obvious weakness in drawing them. But should the trees be anything more? Are they?

       I’m happy to do it, art has become a moment to let my mind clear now. I think and think and think, and for possibly the only time in my day, I have a little silence to just be. As a kid, art was just fun, nothing else. But in a way, I feel these things connected. A moment of peace in a day of going.

Maybe, well, most likely, none of this is about art or even trees at all. That’s very ironic, I know. But this is what I mean: not everything should be as complicated as it feels. Every day feels drudgingly similar, but the underbelly of it all is so prominent. The differences in how I live, how I feel, who I love. Even the expectations I face have changed. 

       One of my biggest goals has changed. I’ve hoped for my previous goal since I was in middle school, and suddenly, my priorities have shifted. I’m not unhappy about it–it’s honestly given me hope, something to work towards. But it’s all so confusing. Should I feel like I betrayed myself? Am I sure I am ready to change such a steady goal? Should I be more flexible in changing what I want out of life? Should I be worried? 

      I wish I could answer all of these for the sake of a closed-off blog post with a pretty little bow on it, but I’m lost. I don’t know. I’m beyond excited, as I keep telling my friends, but in all honesty, I still feel unsure. I feel untethered from the person I used to be. Overall, I’m glad. I don’t want to discount my growth in every sense, but also I feel like I’m free falling. I want to grab her and shake her and ask her for help, but that would be wrong. I am better now, but sometimes feeling and being better is scary too.

     Without school and work and clubs and expectations, would I still be who I am? Did I ever really change? Is it wrong to feel bad around almost everyone? In a way, I think they expect the floating me to be there, but I don’t want her to be. I feel like myself, but there’s a weight on my shoulders now, and a sag in my eyes I never used to feel. Maybe it’s just the stereotypical crushing nature of junior year. Maybe there was comfort in the type of chaos I used to have; totally safe, but ever-consuming. I don’t know if I’m used to trying to make myself content. 

     Am I even content? I think so. I hope so. I just need a few days of silence, but I doubt that’s going to happen anytime soon. I just want to sit there for a little while and look around. At one of two “alone but not lonely” lunches I’ve had, I sat in a secluded space, in the sweet-smelling grass and the warm sunny breeze. It was peaceful. I wish I could lay in the grass, but it’s beginning to get cold and I think I’ve missed my chance to this year. 

    Maybe I will lay in the crunchy leaves then. Or the sparkly snow. And it can just mean that. Laying in whatever creation is below me, and connecting to myself. Letting myself be alone. Being content with my own company. Maybe it can just mean I want to feel the same desires of when I was a child, before I’d experienced constant snowfall or a leaf pile, or the ability to be by myself. This is all probably a lot more complicated than it seems. No matter how I try, I can’t get the words out right, which feels annoyingly fitting. 

    But then again, maybe the answer is simple. Maybe I don’t need an answer to the million questions I have right now. Or ever, really. And as I’ve learned time and time again, worrying only makes things worse and everything feels easier when you’re able to take a deep breath after and be reminded your heart is shockingly beating. A deep breath sounds great. 

    I don’t know when a tree became so much more than a tree. Sometimes, it does need to be complicated to be beautiful. But other times, maybe it can just be itself. A tree filtering the sweet oxygen we breathe in back out to us. I think it’s alright that alcohol markers are a tough medium for me. Either I keep at it, or I go back to watercolors. Or I try something completely different and make a new tree. I won’t know until art tomorrow. I may not be an artist, but I might be one day. I don’t know if I even want to be. But until the day where I can be sure, I hope I can try drawing a tree for what it is. And maybe, that’ll sometimes mean being just a tree.