Hello from what is shaping up to be a typical Texas summer… stupid hot.
We spent this weekend working on the damage left from the storm a few weeks ago and while I see definite progress, it’s clear it will be a bit before the land has fully healed.
I feel like I need to help facilitate this healing somehow, and perhaps even do some healing of my own in the process. This has been a hard year… full of insight and discovery to be sure, but hard nonetheless. And it’s only June.
We had considerable tree damage: one sprawling sugarberry was pulled up at the roots, then tossed on the ground like it was a twig, while another was split down the middle twice, separating it into four distinct pieces. The house is fine for the most part — a new roof later this week and some minor repairs to the siding — and the barn needs some heavy work, so that’s a project that’s ongoing. Of the handful of trees that took the brunt of the storm, I’m hoping we can save two.
One of those is our Giving Tree, a massive elm that has shaded the entrance to my garden since we moved here. Its roots and trunk are still intact as are many of its branches, but the center of the tree looks like it was twisted up, out, and casually propped against the trunk as an afterthought.
I have meditated with this tree, conducted wonderful rituals in its liminal spaces, and taken refuge beneath its expansive branches when I needed a break from the heat. My daughter named it, for both its generous shade and comforting energy, and I’m hoping we can nurture it back to its former glory.
One step at a time, it whispers and I agree, happy to give it my patience and attention as it attempts to fill in the broken parts with new growth.
And how appropriate, I think, given all the challenges and shifts I see, both in here, in my personal journey, and out there, where we collectively find ourselves now.
As above, so below. As within, so without.
The question of course, is how to proceed. How do you repair that void where something has been twisted out and cast aside?
And to this, I (once again) say, follow the tree.
We have clearly seen some things over the past several years and I imagine that most of us are sporting at least a few battle scars at this point. That’s certainly to be expected. It’s also deeply necessary.
Because change is hard.
We have a tendency to get wrapped up in how we think things should be… and how things have always been. And maybe even how we remember those things, even if it’s through a rose-colored lens.
And no surprise, we have a hard time letting those things go.
But we also know (if we can set the insistent denial aside for just a moment) that change is the catalyst that will get you from here to there. Every pivotal moment of your life — all those best days and cherished moments — are the result of change.
You won the award, you married the love of your life, you got the job of your dreams or you took the vacation you’ve been planning for years.
You wrote a book. You recorded a song.
You learned how to drive and you bought your first car.
You moved away. You moved back home.
You had babies. Then they grew up and had babies of their own.
Every kiss, every fight, every love, every loss… they have all contributed to the wonderful person that is now you.
And only YOU can decide how you want to integrate all those pieces.
The thing is, if we hang on too tightly, we get stuck.
We forget how to move forward and instead, spend our time and energy trying to preserve what we know. But if our life is always filled with ‘what used to be,’ there’s not much room for ‘what’s yet to come.’
And that can make for a fairly disappointing future.
This isn’t a judgment… we ALL do it. We all have a tendency to look for our comfort zone when the world feels out of our control. I get it.
We all get it.
And we can all decide to let it go.
This isn’t a “progress for the sake of progress” mentality, and I’m not suggesting you forego any personal standards or give up beliefs you hold most dear.
I’m simply suggesting that we stop looking to the past for our solutions. We stop holding onto the end of a chapter and agree to turn the page.
I’m suggesting we make like a tree, and dig deep to find our center. We catch our breath and take stock of where we are. We stand in the now… in this moment, and give it the attention and care it rightfully deserves. We don’t cling to the past and we don’t fear what hasn’t yet arrived.
And then we look forward. We expand our horizons and entertain new ideas. We open the door (just a little) so that we can get out of our comfort zone and focus on all the delicious possibilities of what’s yet to come.
What is it that we most want to create in this new space we’ve been given?
Then, and only then, can we begin to fill the void of ‘what was’ with new growth.