Prelude
When I was two years old, there was an accident: I was struck by a vehicle. Fortunately, I didn’t sustain any life threatening injuries, but I did have a broken left femur and a cracked pelvis. I can’t remember anything from this event save for picking out the color of my cast. I chose purple. The doctor said I was lucky given the type of break I sustained to my femur—a greenstick fracture or green break. Because of my age, my bones were still quite soft, so the femur didn’t snap in half, exit the skin, or fracture in a spiral. It broke, but not all the way through. Imagine snapping the limb of an aspen: the branch cracks with some force, but given that it’s still live and attached to the tree itself, it doesn’t snap like dry kindling. My leg cracked like that of a young aspen limb, saving me and my folks, I can imagine, further headaches and complications. Cracked, but not broken through. Cracked, but intact. A green break.
As I walked my normal three miles along the San Antonio river the other day, I noticed a proliferation of new growth on all of the mesquites. Their bark grows grey and parched in the winter, so new growth erupts from the barren branches in an uproar of bright, lively greens. Green break, I thought, both because it looked the part—green breaking through the grey—and because even though the mesquite’s winter bark appears fragile, it is alive. It is fully aware of its new growth. The mesquites—like my bones, like the aspen—remain flexible. They do not break and fall to pieces. They bend, wither, and crack open; they allow for the discomfort of growth and change. Green break.
We are not invincible as human animals. Breaking, or breaking down, is inevitable as our boats navigate the swelling waves and gentle eddies of this life. When I didn’t get the job I so badly wanted in January, I came pretty close to breaking, despite robust support from friends and loved ones. I ventured into the deep end of my disappointment and sadness, but I didn’t hit bottom. Despite my every wish to hit bottom and rest there awhile, among the broken bits of glass and detritus, I (and others) gently coaxed myself into not giving up. Into not breaking all the way. I took a day or two and then began applying to other jobs. I reoriented and radically accepted my situation. I let that job go. I broke green, Feelers, and I didn’t even realize it. I felt cracked, but realized that the whole of me was not broken. The whole of me still had my writing, readers, artistic practice, family, friends, birds, trees, and breeze to rely on.
Two weeks later, out of the blue, that job came right back around to me; today was my third official day. Feelers, I could not be more thrilled. I love the company I work for. I love the people. I love the limitless growth and collaboration. A constant, shaking anxiety has been lifted from my chest and I’m now convinced that if I had not broken green—if I had allowed myself to break apart completely instead of just cracking—the opportunity wouldn’t have presented itself again. Even if it had, breaking down would have allowed my perception of the company to sour and curdle. I could have turned them down out of spite or resentment. I could have grown rigid and inflexible–I am partial to these characteristics!—but instead, I did the uncomfortable opposite and remained flexible and open. Green break. And now, the green is breaking out of me, rocketing out of the my cracked bark with abandon. I’ve got all sorts of funny branches splitting the skin of my knees and elbows. It’s uncomfortable. It’s invigorating. Here I grow.
We all break sometimes. Sometimes we do break down, all the way—and it is necessary. It is okay. There is a time and a place for all breaks. Sometimes the force outweighs our best efforts and we break into a really complicated spiral fracture. We will endure countless hardships in this life; we will be brought to a place of reckoning and fear over and over again. Remember how everything is a circle? Endless difficulties present endless opportunities to meet those hardships in a new way. Thusly, dear Feelers, if you must break, break green. If you do, you might just start to notice the new growth bursting forth. You might just find that green breaks and breaking green are two sides of the same coin.
This week’s poem is a short one. I wrote it way-back-when, in 2021, right before I went to Cognitive FX for brain treatment. It is very on-theme for this week’s newsletter, to an uncanny degree. That’s life for you. Disparate moments—sometimes years apart—can coalesce in a single moment. And they surprise you every time. Enjoy Feelers, I love you all. XO, HW.
The Poem
Bend
I ask the trees: Why am I so afraid of it all? They tell me to reach down into the soil with my bare hands and feet but don’t brace— Turn to face the whipping wind and bend.
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Thank you for this, the concept of breaking green is one I needed to hear (read) about. 😊💜
Short and sweet
Tall and grown
Trees, funny how they bend.
Loved this new poem. ♥️