Trees ripen in age without shame, becoming stronger and more abundant. As slow witnesses of the universal ebb and flow, they stand, simply and nobly, adding one more ring, experiencing one more cycle of change. We obviously cannot continue living as a tree does for hundreds or thousands of years, but we can live as long as we are allowed to as active witnesses who age more nobly, ripening with wisdom and abundance and without shame.
Even when parts of a tree noticeably change—branches, leaves, blossoms, fruit—the roots still grasp deep in order to nourish and support each part. Just like the stall between seasons, there is much more going on inside a person than what is visible. What we see is either an expression of rumblings in a person’s roots or an experiment of listening to their own imperial stylist—what’s displayed on the outside. Clothing, hair, makeup, and more change, but people are still people embedded in this human experience and deserving of kindness, respect, and a little benefit of the doubt.
Also, no matter what or when we decide to change in ourselves, keeping up our own nourishment is crucial. Eat well, brush and floss, rest deeply, and feed the spirit with kindness, generosity, service, and beauty. Because what we feed our roots will eventually show up in the details of our leaves, the fragrance of our blossoms, and the sweetness of our fruit.
It’s almost cliché to say, but seasons change. Some have more fullness, energy, and precipitation, while others have bareness and bitter cold. However, they all act as reliable beginnings and endings to each other, just like the different phases of our lives. The death of things and the life of things are inextricably linked, and a necessary and even beautiful part of life.
My life now might look different than before, and it will probably appear even more different in the future. I hope so. A woman’s life, especially, may have very different but recurring seasons, but they are all part of the one tree: the individual—living, breathing, and weathering the storms of life.
And so, as I have lived through the dread of loss and delighted in the sprouting of new kinds of abundance, I know in the sense of how we all know, or hope to know, or even dare to hope to know, that there is some sort of greatness waiting in my roots—in all our roots—and in each accumulated ring that will manifest itself once, maybe twice, or maybe with each recurrent season.
And I know that the cycle, the beauty of the experience, is really what it’s all about—for all of us.
Oh and btw the next time you are in that beach again don’t be surprised if you see her in orange leaves and fruits of green.
