The break time magnolia

[vaneramos]

My first scarf, finished on Tuesday

No, it's not intended to be worn on my head; it wouldn't even fit properly. Just me clowning.

~~~~~~~

I spend two hours every Wednesday evening rehearsing in Harcourt Memorial United Church, but the thing I will always remember most about the place is the little magnolia on the front lawn.

One of the essential aspects of choir rehearsal is break time. People move like sailboats, winds washing us at different angles across a bay. Some gather in knots while a few sit alone resting from the intensity of making music with their bodies. It's a loose flotilla.

For most of the choir season, rehearsals occur under cover of night and cold. Only two or three people disappear outside to smoke. But last spring when rehearsals continued past our April concert, we would prop open a door at the side of the sanctuary. Most of us spilt into the patio and garden to chat under a balmy evening sky.

At that time I was experiencing considerable social anxiety. My nerves wore down watching little dramas unfold around me as in any community, or from bearing our director's lectures, some verging on tantrums. By break time I always needed to get out of the room and away from everyone, even my friends.

Following them onto the patio, I would let my legs carry me further around the corner, inhaling the calm of evening. There stands the lonely magnolia, just out of sight from the crowd. I would go and bury my nose in its faintly purple petals, savouring its silent fellowship for a few minutes, building up my courage to return for another hour of practice.

In June I started taking mirtazapine to treat symptoms of anxiety. One of the first things I noticed was that Wednesday evenings became more enjoyable. People's rough edges didn't faze me as much and I felt more comfortable staying among my friends.

And yet it seemed important to continue visiting the magnolia. I took less time, only a minute or two. By June the evening sky was brighter, and the tree had dropped its last bruised petals in the grass. I only went to remember and say thank you.

We are addicted to meaning. In our society, a life without purpose is generally deemed a failure. And yet looking back on my life so far, it is the aimless moments that seem most powerful. Sitting mindlessly on the dock, watching ripples. Perfect six-sided snowflakes melting on my windshield this afternoon. Out of the communal performance of transcendant music, an invisible, weary path leading to the magnolia tree.

Sometimes when we are most broken, beauty rises up and embraces us. And beauty has no meaning. It defies definition.