Not Seeing The Trees For The Forest...

People are always talking about “Not seeing the forest for the trees”.  That’s never been my problem.

Certainly, it happens.  There are definitely days when the details get in the way and cloud the big picture.  Most days, however, I’m so busy either hiking down the path or standing back and taking in the view that I miss the beautiful little particles that make the landscape interesting.  I’m usually not seeing the trees for the forest.

This rings true not just while standing in the forest but while walking away from it, too.  I’m really good at moving forward and never looking back.  At least that’s what I tell myself.  The reality – which is probably clear to anyone who knows me (or who reads this blog) – is that I look back quite a bit.  I don’t have photo albums, but I have vivid memories.  I don’t have baggage, but I absolutely have learned lessons.  I don’t think I can ever truly travel forward if I don’t know where I’ve been. 

I imagine this is what early explorers did…moved forward, drew a map along the way, and kept going.  Somehow, they were able to focus on the whole forest while taking notes on the trees, too.  On the other side of the journey, they surely took time to reminisce and talk about the whole trip – the flora, the fauna, the disappointments and the treasures – but still managed to chart new lands.

As time marches on and I find myself attending more funerals than weddings these days, I can't help but look back at the forests I’ve left behind and am often surprised to realize just how many snapshots I’ve actually taken.

When I was a senior in high school, I left the paradise of the beach town I’d called home and landed in the suburbs of Philadelphia.  I did NOT want to be there.  Aside from the fact that I was a snotty teenager, and that I missed the sand and salt air, I was experiencing serious culture shock.  I was not at all prepared for life in the northeast.  I was not prepared for just how Philly that Philly could be. I was out of my element and couldn’t relate to the people in my midst.  As a result, steel walls went up all around me.  I was not friendly.  I was not nice.  I definitely was not open.  I was counting the days, the hours, the seconds until I could blaze a trail out of there.  I kept to myself, did not initiate interaction, and tried to fade into the woodwork.

But these Philly kids thought I talked funny.  They wanted to hear my southern accent (which, in my opinion, I did not have).  They wanted to talk to me.  They asked me questions.  Then some of them made me laugh.  They showed up at my door and forced me to eat pizza and go to concerts and such with them.  They were relentless.  Before I knew it, I let them in.  All I wanted to do was get out of that forest and I was surrounded by a ragtag bunch of funny, warm, interesting, and colorful trees, dammit.

I did get out of that forest.  I went back to my beach and beyond.  I did not look back at that Philly forest, but some of the trees stuck with me.  One, in particular, stood out enough that I kept in touch for some time.  We talked, we wrote letters, we visited.  Time marched on and we eventually lost touch and that forest and those trees rarely crossed my mind.

All these years later, I learned that my unlikely friend from that unlikely place left this earth.  This news opened the window to view that forest I left behind.  And I suddenly remembered the details that I didn’t even realize that I noticed.  I remembered the foliage, the colors, and the beauty of all the other trees that were part of that landscape.  Sometimes, a trip backwards is not such a bad thing.  Sometimes, it’s better to not see the forest for the trees.  Sometimes, the trees are what matter most.