about that old question . . .
I must have been as small as 8 years old, when I heard that old, philosophical question,
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear is there a sound?
Even then, even now, from the first time I heard that question, my response wasn’t what it was meant to be. Rather than imagining the sound, I was immediately in the forest with that falling tree.
I watched the tree fall. I heard the sound. I thought of myself falling down. I was 8 years old. I wondered.
If I saw a tree fall in a forest and no one was around for me to tell, did it really happen?
That’s what I thought. . . . most of my life.
Most of my life, some things weren’t real unless I had someone to tell. In some way, describing an event was like making sure someone heard the sound of the falling tree. It was proof I existed. It meant I wasn’t alone.
It took precious time to retell my life.
I still do it now, but not to prove I am real. Now I’m there the first time around instead.
Now when a tree falls in the forest, I’m singing about the sound of being alive.