Rebecca Hyman

There’s a tremendous tree on my drive to work.

It’s magnificent, but most of the time I don’t notice it.

This tree grows behind an abandoned 7-Eleven.  The building is boarded up. The parking lot is full of garbage.  There are big trucks strewn across the lot. There’s a bus stop at the corner, and usually people there are hunched against the cold, and the traffic, and the too-much-noise of early morning.  

Usually, I’m paying attention to those people, or the traffic light, or my thoughts about what I have to do that day.

The most beautiful aspect of this particular tree is hidden for most of the year.  It has absolutely perfectly proportioned, even, branches, and the smaller branches spread like filigree in the air.  

In the winter, when the leaves have fallen, the dark branches etch the sky. At sunrise, they stand out, black, against the pink light.  

There the tree stands, untouched by its immediate surroundings.  The tree is always there. But in the winter, it’s impossible for me not to notice: I’m getting hit by a giant wave of beauty, in the midst of the garbage, the dailyness, the cars.a

It’s so still, I can hear it existing.  It reminds me of how much is always there, how much I don’t notice.  

It makes me think about stripping away excess, to reveal beauty.

What do you need to pare back, in order to reveal the most important thing in your life?

What would happen if you listened to the voice asking you to reach higher, and not the voice saying you don’t have the time to engage?

What will you change, when you identify and act on your meaning and purpose?