You are View-tiful

I'm sitting on the stoop of my duplex in my underwear.  I can't decide if this makes me trashy or classy.  They are boyshort underwear for your information, so as far as skivvies go...these could easily pass for exercise shorts.  But technicalities aside...I'm sitting outside on my stoop...in my underwear.

Let me tell you some more.  My stoop is in the shade of this enormous tree whose branches stretch out wide and low and that cover the entire width of a three car driveway.  So as far as stoops go, this one is pretty chill, both aesthetically and climatically.

I don't know what kind of tree it is. The leaves don't match the standard and easily identifiable shapes of the oak, maple or pine. It's pretty.  It's old. It's big and often messy.  I'm obviously no expert...but I think it's doing a kick-ass job of being a tree.  That's all I know.  Thank you tree, for being you.

Some people cut trees down, because they are messy.  Or because they block their view of something they would like to view. An old neighbor of mine campaigned to cut down a huge maple tree that blocked his view of the mountains.  The tree in question didn't just sit on my property next to my bedroom, it hugged my bedroom.  Branches from the same tree graced the window behind my bed as well as the window next to my bed.  Reason after reason as to why I would not let him cut down my tree fell on deaf ears until one day I simply said "You can't cut down that tree because every time I wake up and see those branches outside my window, I know God loves me."  The campaign ended.

He wanted to cut it down because it blocked a view.   How come he couldn't accept that the tree was a view? A perfectly good, useful view.  Who better to ask that question than nature observer extraordinaire himself,  Henry David Thoreau? He is quoted as saying "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."

To be honest, I can't help but wonder if some people will want to cut me down because I'm blocking their view.  I mean right now.  If I post this, will someone be upset that I'm sitting outside in my underwear, and that I had the nerve to write about it publicly?  Scandalous, I know.  Will they want a different view of the world, where 47 year old women do not sit on fabulously cool stoops on lazy summer evenings and quote Thoreau on the internet in their undies?

Me and my tree. Not pictured: my underwear.

Of course they will. They (and when I say they, I mean WE) do it all the time.  We decide how we want people to be and then when they show up as just themselves; just old, big, pretty, messy themselves, we fire up the chainsaw. "Hey....you're blocking my view of the pretend people that I made up in my head.  Please don't be you right now."  Brrr...umbrumbrumbrumbrumbrummmmm.

But wouldn't it be more fun to find out why I'm out here without pants on?  Oh yes.  The answer is yes.  If you saddled up here next to Henry and I, I promise you'd have way more fun hearing my story than you would by merely walking by and rolling your eyes at me in disdain. Way, way more fun.

So back to my original question: am I trashy or am I classy?

My Aunt Holly says, "You are at your best when you are true to yourself.  Classy all the way."

So there lies the answer.  I'm not sure what kind of tree I am, but I'm me.  I'm a view.  And I don't know what kind of tree you are either, but it doesn't matter because you're a view.  And he's a view and she's a view and I'll be damned if we aren't doing a kick-ass job of being our own view-tiful little selves. Look at us being all classy and stuff.  And when you look at us, I hope you see a bouquet of incredible persons all ready to open up their worlds to you; give and receive light and love in ways unique to each of us.

So thank you, for being you. I see you, you're amazing.