Chikee may may sawy inna win
There is a tree in my yard. It is an oak tree, and in tree age, it is just a young'un; maybe 15 or 20 years old. I have termed this tree a she, because in my head, she just is. When we moved in to our house, this tree struggled a little. It had been overshadowed for a long time by the poplar and sweet gum beside it and we weren't sure if she was going to survive. But in the past few years, she has THRIVED. She's getting taller and fuller, and in the summertime she provides a good bit of shade. I like that the tree has shown she has some mettle. She has refused to be pushed around by the other trees. So I guess that's part of why I term her a she. I want to see myself in the aspects of her I admire. So, "she" she is.
One of the things I have always been amazed about is that she never loses her leaves. Sure they turn brown, and a couple of them fall, but she holds tight to the majority, and then, in the spring, when the new leaves push out, she finally lets go of the dry, shriveled coverings, and seems to shake her limbs like a woman shaking out her long hair and says, "See? I was gorgeous underneath all that brown!" Until recently, I found that so admirable. That the stormiest winds could blow, and she held fast. That the cold rains and freezing sleet and even a couple of layers of ice could not persuade her to let go of what she held so dear. I imagined the leaves were her belief system, or were accomplishments that she was so proud of. Outward things the world could see that made her "special", and no matter what troubles came her way, she remained, unchanging, save the color of her leaves.
Lately, though, I have looked at her in a different way. I have realized how sad I am for her that she seems unable to let go. I give her human emotions- fear, uncertainty, vanity, and security- and I have come to see the act of her clinging to these leaves as an indication of her inability to let what life throws at her, shape her into a new tree. A better tree. A tree that gets changed every year by the cold biting winds of November. A tree whose branches sag a little less because the ice covered leaves did not weigh so heavy on her this year. I find myself looking at her at night, and wondering why she won't just let go of the last vestiges of the tree she was last year. And I finally know why she won't. Because we, as women, are afraid of change. And a tree is no different.
When a woman looks into the mirror, she wants to see a youthful beauty staring back at her. At some point, that just ain't gonna happen, you know? There will come a time when we will see grey hair, or loose skin, and we will know our bodies have changed, and I want us to be okay with that. The same thing goes for our lives and our accomplishments. We hold onto our leaves- whether they are our jobs, or our community involvement, or our family's approval, or whatever activities bring us recognition- so tightly, even when they are really making life harder for us. If we let them go, then who do we become? We're afraid of being bare and naked without the shelter of our leaves to hide behind. And what we never realize is that a bare tree is gorgeous. When you see the skeleton-like form of dark brown tree against the frosty backdrop of a winter morning, you would be hard pressed to find a sight more breathtaking. Because at that point, all you are seeing is the trees strength, not it's garnishes.
There are leaves I am holding onto, afraid to take the leap into naked. And I have friends who are letting their leaves drop one by one. I am so proud of them. Because I can now recognize the beauty of a naked tree. And I aspire to be one someday.
One of the things I have always been amazed about is that she never loses her leaves. Sure they turn brown, and a couple of them fall, but she holds tight to the majority, and then, in the spring, when the new leaves push out, she finally lets go of the dry, shriveled coverings, and seems to shake her limbs like a woman shaking out her long hair and says, "See? I was gorgeous underneath all that brown!" Until recently, I found that so admirable. That the stormiest winds could blow, and she held fast. That the cold rains and freezing sleet and even a couple of layers of ice could not persuade her to let go of what she held so dear. I imagined the leaves were her belief system, or were accomplishments that she was so proud of. Outward things the world could see that made her "special", and no matter what troubles came her way, she remained, unchanging, save the color of her leaves.
Lately, though, I have looked at her in a different way. I have realized how sad I am for her that she seems unable to let go. I give her human emotions- fear, uncertainty, vanity, and security- and I have come to see the act of her clinging to these leaves as an indication of her inability to let what life throws at her, shape her into a new tree. A better tree. A tree that gets changed every year by the cold biting winds of November. A tree whose branches sag a little less because the ice covered leaves did not weigh so heavy on her this year. I find myself looking at her at night, and wondering why she won't just let go of the last vestiges of the tree she was last year. And I finally know why she won't. Because we, as women, are afraid of change. And a tree is no different.
When a woman looks into the mirror, she wants to see a youthful beauty staring back at her. At some point, that just ain't gonna happen, you know? There will come a time when we will see grey hair, or loose skin, and we will know our bodies have changed, and I want us to be okay with that. The same thing goes for our lives and our accomplishments. We hold onto our leaves- whether they are our jobs, or our community involvement, or our family's approval, or whatever activities bring us recognition- so tightly, even when they are really making life harder for us. If we let them go, then who do we become? We're afraid of being bare and naked without the shelter of our leaves to hide behind. And what we never realize is that a bare tree is gorgeous. When you see the skeleton-like form of dark brown tree against the frosty backdrop of a winter morning, you would be hard pressed to find a sight more breathtaking. Because at that point, all you are seeing is the trees strength, not it's garnishes.
There are leaves I am holding onto, afraid to take the leap into naked. And I have friends who are letting their leaves drop one by one. I am so proud of them. Because I can now recognize the beauty of a naked tree. And I aspire to be one someday.
