I have two trees in my back yard. Well, yard is a bit excessive.
Ah, yes, veranda.
So I have two trees right next to each other on my back veranda. One tree overhangs and towers over the other and continuously discards its dead leaves and debris directly on to it (the other, lower tree). All the debris then stays and collects and builds up on the lower tree until every spider in the land moves in and there are cobwebs everywhere and now my veranda looks like it belongs in a cemetery, or at a minimum, behind the Addams Family house.
Every time I go down the stairs I gaze upon said spider play area with disgust and dismay.
What am I going to do about this tree?
Aren’t the gardeners supposed to do something about it?
Why am I always the one that has to do everything?
FINE, I’ll do something about it … later.
Like the junk drawer that we never want to organize, or the toilet in the back of the house that we never want to clean, that tree was beginning to form a special little black hole in the back of my mind. One that was slowly growing and starting to take up too much precious brain space that I needed for bigger worries.
Like when quarantine was going to be over and I was actually going to make money again?
Or how, pray tell me sweet baby Jesus, I was going to get through another day of “synchronous learning” with my children, at home, telling them for the 898th time to “get back in class”, which also happened to be my kitchen table, or their bed, or the toilet (as the case may be)?
And also, how to get through each day simultaneously being a new homeschooler and also stressing about the fact that I’m quite sure I’m going through a mid-life crisis and/or the world is ending (one of the two, although could be both)?
Hence, I have zero brain space for a veranda full of spiders.
So I swept it.
Like literally, swept it. With a broom. Full on smacking it and officially sweeping it. Try it next time you need a good laugh.
Who sweeps trees anyways? This guy!
And you know what … it was highly therapeutic. It felt good to brush the layers of the dead and rotten away and begin to see the actual green leaves of the forgotten tree underneath. It reminded me of my life and made me wonder what would happen if I would actually do the things I’ve left undone for so long. What would I start to look like? Who would I become? Would I begin to see me again underneath the layers (re: years) of resisting, distracting, avoiding, settling, and regret?
Maybe it’s time to find out.