I wish I was a tree.
Trees keep still and last a long time; they’re steady in the midst of a world always scurrying to recreate itself.
Trees just are.
I think we just are, too, really; we just get so absorbed in our own special awareness of it all, which can sometimes sully how amazing it actually is (being).
Trees produce and go on producing even after they die.
We, on the other hand, have to wait for drives like competition and self-preservation to basically cancel themselves out.
Altruism might be the most ironic imaginable unforced “goal” for social creature development; for us, it requires growing to see a bigger picture than that which is innate . . . though, yes, our ability to eventually do so is innate.
Trees don’t have to learn why they should give so freely of themselves.
No, I don’t literally want to be a tree, or anything other than me. I guess I just admire them.
I hope I’m like a tree when I grow up.