Most of us have big dreams. We’re Americans. We can’t help it.
We do not just want to make good computers; we want to revolutionize technology.
We do not just want to raise good kids; we want to give them “everything we never had.”
We do not want to be adequate teachers; we want to have The Best Education system in the world.
Reach for the stars, as it were.
Of course. It’s practically in our DNA.
Yet as I get older, a paradox seems to emerge. Because sometimes we miss the trees for the forest. And as much as getting the whole sprawling vista is moving, there is nothing quite like trekking through the woods, surrounded by actual trees, up close and in person.
Sure, your view of the mountain range is compromised. But so what? You can’t smell the strange vanilla scent that comes off certain pine species if you’re standing miles away, surveying the landscape view. You can’t notice their spindly branches, or relish the soft mattress step of walking over millions of fallen needles.
In fact, you might miss out entirely on what a wonder each single tree really is, and I do ask: can you really appreciate the forest if you don’t appreciate the significance of each individual tree?
This is a long-winded analogy, but as we head into Mother’s Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about my own mom, and how much that relationship stands out. For most of us, at least.
It doesn’t take a great mom, or even a good mom (though my own mom would qualify on both counts) to show a person the meaning of love.
Mothers do it instinctually.
And the thing is, this is a love that is personal, and wholly irreplaceable.
That matters. Because as much as the American impulse is to “love humanity,” to donate boat loads of money to charity, to take care of the entire world, to revolutionize poverty….
I’d believe it a whole lot more if I saw more widespread love examples on the smaller, tree-level.
Kindness to the obnoxious person on the subway. Greeting the janitorial staff. Hugging the kids.
These things strike us as so simple, and so easy, that we’re not interested half the time.
But I don’t think you can truly “love humanity” if you are not loving the person right next to you, whoever they might be, however they might look.
Because a whole bunch of those people together make up “humanity.”
This is a lesson I learned well from the love of my own mom, in the million tiny things done over the course of several decades. Little reminders that I am not invisible or expendable. That I am one singular tree, not just a blip in some sweeping set of woods. What a gift.
Let’s not miss the trees for the forest.
Happy Mother’s Day.
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