Sunday, August 15, 2010

Out on a Limb

As I sat under the spreading branches of my dogwood tree one humid evening last week with a glass of Cabernet, a book, and the can of mosquito repellent, the enormous cracking sound of a falling tree or a breaking limb split the thick air. Not knowing where it was coming from, I instinctively leaped from my chair and sprinted for the deck--taking my wine glass with me (I have my priorities). Just as I arrived at what I prayed was safety, I turned to see a large branch from the top of a tree next door and two branches it took out on its descent explode onto the roof of the neighbor’s garage, breaking several window panes in the door. And so, I have been thinking this week about going out on a limb and risk-taking.

I believe that nothing good ever happened that didn’t start with a risk: falling in love, marriage, babies, buying a house, moving, new jobs. They are all risks--but they aren't necessarily going out on a limb. Until I reached early mid-life, I stayed on the thick and sturdy branches nearest the trunk of my tree. Even moving across the country, after marrying at the proper age, was not out-of-the-ordinary in my family tree. My parents moved across the country at a young age. In fact, my mother moved by herself before they were married, when my father joined the army at the beginning of WWII. And my older sister moved east while I was still in high school. That was a strong and well-known branch. Throughout my childhood and young adulthood, I stepped out on all the safe limbs.

And then I turned 40, and my strongest limb succumbed to the disease that had been slowly, invisibly growing deep in its core. I did the only thing I felt I could do, I cut it off to save the tree. I ended my marriage. This was not on the family tree. It was the beginning of a time of stepping onto new limbs and exploring life farther from the trunk.

I am fascinated by spiders. Not only do they make their own homes, but they build bridges and branches to go with them. They build their spindly-looking homes and connect them with a tenuous strand to something sturdy and strong. And sometimes the bridges and branches break, or are destroyed by outside forces. And the spider picks itself up and builds new ones. What is your trunk, your strength? What keeps you tethered to safety when you go out on a limb? Mine is my trust in a faithful God, the One who is More. More than me, more than my risk-taking, more than my fear. And the embodiment of God in my life is my friends. I have faith that they will be there to hold me up if my branches are threatened. And, like it or not, they also push me out onto limbs.

My favorite story in the news this week was the Jet  Blue flight attendant who, in effect said, “Take this job and shove it.” But he didn’t mean it; he "loves his job" and he hopes to get it back (good luck with that). Allegedly, deploying the emergency chute down which he took his departure, could have caused injury; but his most egregious crime was that he broke the code of conduct that says the customer is always right, even when they aren’t. He broke the rule on his familiar tree in order to make a statement about--again alleged--rudeness. I pruned some branches in the garden this weekend, branches that I was having to duck under. I noticed again that, whereas I used to make the cut well up the larger part of the branch in order to get all the offending smaller branches gone in one fell swoop, if I just cut one of the smaller ones, enough weight is removed that the rest of it bounces up and out of the way of my head. I really do not need to cut the whole thing off. As I pruned, several platitudes and proverbs fluttered through my mind: "throwing the baby out with the bathwater" vs. "cutting off the offending part"; and the reverse, piling on offenses until reaching "the straw that broke the proverbial back."

Earlier in the summer, I noticed caterpillar tents in a branch over my driveway. Rather than kill them with chemicals, I cut off the branches they were occupying and stuffed them into the yard waste can. When I put the container out at the curb later in the week, I discovered that they had hatched. Then I killed them with chemicals. I didn't feel good about it. My friends know that I don't let go of relationships easily. I prefer to cut off the offending part, and hang on to the good parts. But there comes a time when I have to cut off the whole thing--or, rather, the other person cuts off the whole thing, and I have to figure out how to let go of what is already gone. I don't feel good about it.

I have mentioned before that I stepped out on a really flimsy limb this summer, one that didn't feel safe at all. I subscribed to an online dating site. There are so many of them, and this is probably not the place to discuss them, but I can't resist mentioning an unsolicited something I saw. I read an ad for a dating site called ChristianMingle. (I was fascinated by the name only.) I also saw a site that portends to review Christian dating sites. They do not recommend ChristianMingle because they make "h o m o s e x u a l" matches (that's how they wrote it). And they don't recommend EHarmony because although they don't make  "h o m o s e x u a l" matches, the creators of the site say it's because they don't have experience in such matches and they want their matches to be successful, not because it is  "s i n f u l." But I digress. I subscribed to Match and am so relieved that my three months is finally over. I was ready to head back to the tree trunk after the first month. However, it now seems there might be a side branch to explore. And that is what happens when you go out on a limb. It doesn't necessarily break. In fact, it usually doesn't break. It almost always leads to something else and something else and something else. It is the nature of trees.

I heard two interesting things on NPR this morning on the way to my coffee shop booth. The first was the last line of a story. I don't even know what they were talking about. "We do the right thing when it’s easy to do the right thing." Going out on unfamiliar limbs is not the easy thing, but it is often the right thing. And the other was a brief story that tickled me about some kids renting out their backyard treehouse. Now that is going out on a limb.

Eleanor Roosevelt said, "Well-behaved women rarely make history." In my 40s and 50s, I have stepped onto many limbs and, some would say, I have not been well-behaved. I have strayed from several of the branches on my family tree. The only history I am making is my own, but it will inevitably influence the lives of others. I can only hope in a positive way.

4 comments:

Church Lady Chronic-ails said...

It is thought provoking and so very interesting to tag along behind your words as you grow and branch out. Thank you for this gift of you. I just can't say it enough.

KaKi said...

Interesting post for me to consider as I drive Stephen today. THank you for putting a positive spin on something I am finding hard. I hope to start out on some new branches myself soon!

Anonymous said...

I particularly relate to a limb not necessarily breaking, but leading to something else. Beautiful imagery and metaphores. Thank you. Grace

Charly On Life said...

Well-behaved women rarely make history.... this quote was on my friend's door down the hall in Yellowstone. :) I guess ill-behaved women make friends easily!