All too often our minds look longingly to the future, or nostalgically to the past, never quite finding those moments of Zen and relaxation that we desperately seek. “I can’t wait till I retire” goes the mantra. Or, “Those were the good old days. I really miss things the way things were.”
But do we ever really land in the present?
Our razor focus on the destination makes us look constantly to the future. At the same time, our selective memory of the past turns our half empty glass of the present into a memory bank of all the good we didn’t seem to see before.
After 20+ years in big cities, traffic, and succumbing to the daily grind, our family moved to a quiet section of the North Carolina coast, hoping to slow time, and unlock the secrets to living “the good life.”
What I ended up finding was that it isn’t necessarily where you live that matters, it’s how and why you live, and frame of reference is everything.
We are a society that dreams big and wants it all right now. It’s okay to have goals, but when we concentrate so hard on the destination we are completely oblivious to the journey. An expedition that if properly attended to is far more fulfilling then the finality of the goal we are seeking.
There is a walking path in my neighborhood that acts as a metaphor for life’s path to try to find those quintessential moments.
Starting out in what could be virtually any suburban American neighborhood, with stars and stripes waving on the porch and SUVs and pickup trucks parked in the driveway, the pavement eventually fades to dirt. Painstakingly manicured lawns give way to sun-kissed wild flowers leaning over a path through the overgrowth. Local wildlife teems and the constant hum of cicadas drown out the sounds of the nearby highway.
Follow the trail far enough and you enter a forest with longleaf pines towering overhead, their needles blanketing the sandy soil under foot. Most of the trunks rise barren until high above, where they conspire to block out the sun as if hiding your eyes from the giant surprise that awaits.
As the path slopes towards the sound, the pines frame a window around the first sight of a dock, parting the waters as if Moses himself were involved. On a quiet morning, the only sound that can be heard is the rhythmic lapping of water against piles of broken oysters in the marsh grass.
Adjacent to the dock, the Live Oak crouches over a small sand beach, its contorted arms twisting and turning with the experience of a wrinkled sea captain standing watch at the wheel of his ship.
Unlike traditional Oaks, which conform to a certain symmetry and balance, the gnarled branches of the Live Oak break all the rules, and in their peculiarity, invite you to take a path less traveled. It is under the Live Oak that for me, time stops; and those moments of harmony and balance become most profound.
The mind is no different from the walking path. We are all trying to cope with the daily trials and tribulations that keep us from reaching true happiness in the here and now. While your metaphor may be different, many of our pilgrimages are the same.
Through creative writing, photography, art, and travel, Under the Live Oak explores different topics aimed at unlocking positivity in your life, and helping you distill what truly matters on your personal voyage to find your version of the Live Oak.
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