Blame Bears No Acorns

Well, well, well. It’s the last weekend in January.

Winter has blanketed the earth, stilling its growth. It's no surprise that our own growth is challenged in this season of dormancy. Yet we often turn our blame inward, faulting ourselves for not staying true to our new year's resolutions. But change is difficult when the sky is cloudy, the wind cuts through our warmth, and the nights draw longer than the days.

Confined inside, my mood and motivation wane. The stillness of winter intensifies my restlessness, driving me to seek solace in the outdoors. I rise from my desk and move to the window, eager to bask in the memory of spring's verdant beauty. And there, the barren apple and pear saplings in my front yard arrest my gaze, and their presence is a testament to the seasons of growth and renewal.

I am also struck by more distant memories of observing old, fallen trees.

When you were younger, were you ever taught that if you count the rings in a fallen tree’s stump, you can tell how old it was?

I think the oldest fallen tree I ever encountered added up to 144-ish rings.

And I didn’t know it at the time, but as I counted the rings, I bore witness to its life, how it grew, and all of the seasons it weathered.

Let’s take a look at how these rings form. And maybe we can rethink how applying all of this pressure at the beginning of a year can result in a lot of self-blame that doesn’t embrace a natural way to learn, change, and grow.

Springtime awakens the earth, with warm sun and nurturing rain that stirs the tree to grow. In response, it forms expansive cells, open and airy, known as "earlywood." As the seasons shift and coolness returns, growth slows and the cells become smaller, more tightly held, known as "latewood."

These ebb and flow of life are seen in the tree's rings, where the earlywood appears as wide, bright bands and latewood as narrow, dark lines. Yet the rings hold no record of winter's dormancy, when the tree rests, waiting in stillness for the return of spring. A record of life's pulse.

There are seasons for new growth, when conditions are ripe for big and rapid advancements, like when entering a new role or starting a new project or working through a challenging situation. This is the time for earlywood when growth is swift, and learning abounds. Earlywood’s rapid growth brings energy and teaches us to adapt and collaborate. But after these periods of rapid growth, comes the season for latewood.

Slower growth, like the steady formation of latewood, allows for introspection and the deepening of lessons learned.

And just as the tree rests in winter, there is also a time for us to be still, to tend the soil of our being, to ready ourselves for the growth to come.

If you are blaming yourself for not staying true to your new year's resolutions or not changing quickly enough, or those new habits aren’t forming as quickly as you want, remember the process of earlywood and latewood.

The oak tree stands tall and proud, not diminished by its struggles to flourish. We observe the soil and air that nurture its roots and leaves, recognizing that its health is entwined with its surroundings. Our own well-being must also be approached with compassion and care, free from the weight of blame.

Blame bears no acorns.

Dormancy is not stillness, but incubation, a promise of what will come. If you feel your growth slowing after promising yourself to make changes in this new year, do not rush ahead, but listen and learn. Maybe you can’t see that part of a tree’s life in its rings, but it is vital nevertheless.

Here’s the deal—I know we are not trees.

Our journey through the rhythms of earlywood and latewood is clouded in confusion, for so many of us have strayed from the natural flow of life. Like those who come January 1st, force themselves into motion amidst winter's stillness, ignoring the call to rest and reflect in preparation for growth.

If you feel your growth slowing after promising yourself to make changes in this new year, do not rush ahead, but listen and learn. Take time to reflect, to find your footing, and lay the foundation for the next season of growth. And when the time is right, you will burst forth, just as the tree does, with newfound strength and resilience.

In our winter slumber, amidst a pile of blankets and a purring cat and snoring dog, we can ponder these questions:

• Am I in a state of growth or reflection?
• What growth do I desire at this moment?
• What growth does my community need from me?
• How long have I been on this path?

Perhaps it is time to embrace change and welcome the new season, even if that season is dormant.

Let us remember that growth is a cyclical dance of emergence and stillness. The stillness is not a lack but a pause, a time of deep nourishment. It holds within it the seed of the next burst of growth.

Listen to the whispers of wisdom from your experiences. Seek out the sources of sustenance and allow yourself to rest. Trust that the time will come when you will once again be called to stretch and soar.

Until then, find nourishment and rest, for a well-tended spirit is fertile ground.

In connection,

Ellie

P.S. In the next week, I’m taking requests on what y’all might want to hear more about. Weigh in with the poll if you’d like!