I trudged around the far end of the lake where our class walked last Wednesday in hopes to find a perfect spot of reflection. I walked along what was a swampy, beaten path only a few days ago, but has recently been transformed into a snow-covered trail with only a handful of noticeable footprints. I saw a relatively flat patch of ground next to a rotting stump, the last remains of what I could only imagine was once a mighty pine, a home to countless organisms. I sat down to test out this potential reflection spot and surveyed my surroundings. The stream that funnels into the lake is now covered over by a thin sheet of ice. I thought about taking a step onto the ice, but hesitated enough to think about how warm it was outside and that nothing truly good could come from trying to walk across this temporarily frozen stream. Picking my head up, I saw a couple pieces of garbage, namely a Jimmy Johns bag and an unrecognizable can. This was not the perfect reflection spot.
I moved along the bank of the stream in search of a new spot, weighing the options, looking for the most beautiful of trees to surround me, where just enough sunlight could break through the branches and warm my skin on this blustery January afternoon. I continued to walk around the outskirts of the lake looking for another potential place to sit and observe, but this time it was a trashcan that was in my direct line of sight that caused me to get up and continue looking for my ideal location.
I walked around for another ten minutes before I stopped right in my tracks and decided to sit down immediately. This spot did not offer a more beautiful view than the first, and not only could I see a trashcan, but I could see an entire dumpster. What I realized at this moment was that I had been walking around in hopes to find the most perfect spot for reflection, where there were little to no disturbances or unpleasant sights or sounds. What I failed to realize was that I was being more distracted by what I didn’t want to see than by what was right in front of me. I failed to miss the sound of the snow and ice crunching beneath my feet as I walked. I failed to listen to the wind shake the trees and its branches, or the birds humming, or even watching the squirrels doing whatever squirrels do.
My reflection spot is on the opposite side of the lake from Lakeview, in between the path the leads to the greek theatre and the road. As I sit down, I listen to both the cars rush behind me, and voices carry across the lake from people walking across the bridges by the gazebo. There is also a small stream of water that remains frozen that goes back into the wooden area that I have never encountered before. I have to say that the trees and the ground look tired and depleted, and appear more than ready to welcome warmer weather, as am I. I am excited to come back to this spot and observe how my surroundings change with time and with the coming seasons.
Something I struggle with, and a lot of people would probably agree, is that I take for granted what is right in front of me. I often overlook my immediate surroundings and yearn to discover and observe something more beautiful or more complex, rather than appreciate the beauty and simplicity of the trees, the lake, and the animals that I am lucky to be surrounded by everyday when I walk around this campus.