I love mornings. For those who wake before the sun, a world of silence and utter tranquility awaits. It's our reward for stumbling, bleary-eyed, out of the den before the rest of the forest wakes. Dew wets the grass, the air is crisp, and I never fail to be startled by how much more beautiful and new everything around me looks as those first rays of sun emerge.
Mornings are my favourite time to reflect. I think about the coming day, what I have planned. I also think about things that trouble me, picking them apart like tangled yarn as I sip my coffee.
I am often faced by the same dilemma - different scenes, different characters, but with the same overarching theme, so to speak.
When I see people struggling, I find that I can often see a way that I might be able to help. It's difficult, when you're the one struggling, to see a way out of your predicament. If it were easy, you wouldn't be struggling with it, but would have long since solved the problem, eased your pain, and moved on. So when those around me are struggling, I find that as an observer and devoted friend, I can see the escape routes clearer than they can. Because of this, I tend to feel a sense of duty, a calling to help.
I myself have a great deal of difficulty in asking for help, and so when I see the chance to anticipate a friend's need, I take it, and try to help them avoid the awkwardness of pleading for assistance. But in the process of reaching out to them and offering help in that way, I often over-stretch myself, bending over backwards, even losing sleep over how best to be of help. Sometimes, in the process, I lose either their respect for me, or my respect for myself - often, both.
My reasoning has often been, "Well, so long as they get the help they need, then I don't mind what I have to do, and all's well that end's well." But is that really the right attitude to have?
I've recently stepped back a little. My fear has always been that if I step back, stop being the "great friend", that my friendships will vanish. Better, I always thought, to have a one-sided friendship, than none at all. Now I think I'm willing to risk it. I'm tired of waiting, so to speak, for a train that will never come. I look at my watch, feel a stab of shame that I was silly enough to have waited this long on the platform, and turn to leave. But then I stop, unsure I've made the right choice, after all.
Is it my pride that keeps me waiting, wanting to be the hero that saves the day? Or is it pride that makes me want to give up on people and walk away, offended at their lack of appreciation?
How much should you give without getting anything in return? How long should you wait with no sign of anyone coming around the corner? Such questions probably take a lifetime to answer for oneself. In the meantime, I'm waiting at the station, and oftentimes it feels like waiting for nobody, for nothing.
So do I stay?
Or do I walk away?
For those who have not yet seen it, here is a video I shot and edited on the day these photos were taken at Gasworks Park, in Seattle, Washington. It was a glorious morning.