A few weeks ago I saw spring arrive with scented clusters of red-bud trees. Hoping to preserve some of the season for myself, I trimmed a red-bud stem from a tree and placed it carefully in a tall vase. An optimal place for viewing was chosen in my room, and the stem sat dutifully in the glass enclosure, faithfully giving me the jovial emotions of spring.
Sometimes life changes so rapidly that we don't notice it. Sometimes we ourselves become entirely different people right under our very own noses. I watched my red-bud stem for days, and it seemed to not alter its appearance in any way to my mind's eye. Weeks passed, and I delighted in the fact that my flowering branch remained perfectly preserved.
One morning, I woke up. I looked at my branch, now wilted and ugly. I stared at myself in the mirror. I too had wilted. Why had I not noticed the signs of the red-bud's decay? Why had I not noticed the blossoms dropping subtly on the white surface of my dresser?
Why had I not recognized the changes my temperament had undertaken? Why were my petals, the ones that held positivity, hope, and anticipation for the future now crumpled up in little balls just like those of the red-bud's?
Was it the long weeks of isolation that incited it? The cancellations, disruptions, and disappointments that led to my bleak, unmotivated attitude? Perhaps. Perhaps we all live unaware of when our world becomes faded and without color.
Is it possible to become situationally depressed without knowing it? It must be. I focused so much on the thing that still held color in my life that I didn't recognize when it, and I, had faded.
