Childhood Memories: Bare Trees and Wishing I Were Somewhere Else

These days, I seem to have a little more time on my hands because (A) there's a pandemic out there and (B) my main work computer is not working. Effectively, I have less time to be doing and more time for just being.

I suppose that can be good or bad, given there are still bills to be paid...

Earlier today, I found myself gazing absent-mindedly out of the window at the now bare trees silhoeutted against a winter sky. Somehow, that view reminded me of childhood... when I'd also end up sitting in various places, looking at bare tree branches in the fading light.

Back then, I spent a lot of time by myself because we moved around so much and so often... that I was mostly home schooled, and we seldom lived in any one place for long enough that I would make many friends. I learned to occupy myself, even if not exactly entertain myself.

A lot of the time, I would just sit there and look into space, often wishing I were somewhere else. But where? When I think back on my life at ages nine to about thirteen, I recall that I didn't have any particular place in mind... I just wanted to be somewhere else.

I can't honestly say what I believed would be there... other than perhaps more possibilities.

Now, don't get me wrong: I did not grow up with abusive parents, nor was I ever in danger, or getting beaten or anything like that. Mostly, I just felt a great sense of emptiness; a feeling that mostly went with having an absence of content in my young life.

For no particular reason, I grew fascinated by the sight of bare tree branches against a dusky sky. There was something stark and naked about them that I could relate to. Sure, they were living and healthy trees, but at that moment it felt like they were without. And it felt familiar; comforting, even.

In some ways, I credit my love of nature photography to those childhood years... they taught me to really observe and truly see what was around me. Of course, most of this predated the invention of digital cameras, so most of the "images" would stay purely in my head because film was too expensive for a teenager.

I have often been asked where my "edge" of sadness comes from, and I can't honestly tell you. I think I was born with it; but I am by no means what the mental health profession calls "clinically depressed." Most likely, I am simply an example of what psychologist C.G. Jung termed "The Melancholic Temperament."

This post is a little different from my usual "fare" here, perhaps making a return to the kind of personal blogging and journaling I often engaged in when I had more time on my hands. Whether it will continue, I don't know.

For the moment, it simply IS, much like the person behind the words.

Thanks for reading!

As always, comments, feedback and other interaction is invited and welcomed! Because — after all — SOCIAL content is about interacting, right? Leave a comment — share your experiences — be part of the conversation!

(All text and images by the author, unless otherwise credited. This is ORIGINAL CONTENT, created expressly for this platform — NOT A CROSSPOST!!!)
Created at 20201203 18:37 PST
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