My wife is bipolar, and we've been having a rough go of it in recent months. I've been staying with my dad. Sometimes people ask me why I've stuck it out with her so long, through mania, depression, episodes, narcissism, never a clue what I'm in for each day.
I never knew how to answer, mostly because I wondered myself. Sometimes feel like I'm too weak to leave for my own good.
Since things went sideways this time around I've been going for walks in the hills near by. I've brought back trees half the time, completely unplanned. Those along with what's back at the house with the wife and kids I have about a dozen trees, and half of them are dying. I keep finding more, trying new things. I have a rough day, and I sit and break up brick and terracotta for substrate over a couple drinks. My dad looks at me funny, but never questions it.
Sometimes people ask me why I keep trying even though I've killed half the trees I've ever brought home. I say it's because some times they don't die, and I have all the time in the world to make that worth it. And if a tree dies, I just get to learn more about whittling. They tell me that's a sign of strength.
I learned that what I love about bonsai is what I love about life.
I apparently only know one way to do things: slow and steady, taking the wins as they come, and learning from the losses; finding something beautiful each day, and taking it home; it's only time to give up on this dying thing once I've figured out what else it's good for, then the new work begins.