Practicing Change
This autumn I’ve found myself wondering how the trees feel about the season. Do the ash and the maple know everyone is peeping their colorful leaves? Does it hurt as the new buds swell? Do they feel lighter and is it a relief when old leaves fall away? How do they feel about all these changes?
Deciduous trees lose their leaves this time of year (northern hemisphere winter) for the same reason our bathing suits and sandals naturally migrate to the back of the dresser. They don’t need them. They’re pretty much done photosynthesizing while the temperatures are cold and the light is low. Leaves are also a liability when the winter storms come. They create more surface area and thus hold more heavy snow or freezing rain, causing branches to break. Instead, those leaves get to break down on the ground and turned into nutrients for next year’s growth (that is, if they don’t get raked or blown away - leave the leaves! It’s free mulch!!).
To me, and many others, trees are a natural symbol of strength. Not the kind of brute strength from the last post. Trees are strong because they know when to let go. They take stock of the changing world and adjust accordingly. Dropping their leaves. Compartmentalizing a wound. Pushing new growth.
Recently, I made a big life decision to change direction instead of staying on the same path. Of course, I agonized over every detail at every angle before I made my choice. I talked through it with multiple friends, wrote a pros and cons list, did my research, mapped multiple futures. Ultimately though, I knew that no matter how carefully I weighed the options, there would be no way to really know how things would work out until I had just taken the leap.
Changing course requires letting go of one possible future, and that’s scary. Wanting to hold onto the comfort that comes from scraps certainty we do have in this crazy life, is totally valid. Better the devil you know, and all that…
The dividing line of this moment seems to be between those who accept and welcome change, and those who are afraid of it. On one side are those who are okay with composting what is no longer serving us; trying something new; embracing the diversity and possibilities of the other beings and universe around us.
And on the other, those, like in the last blog post, who want to blame others who are different for their problems; who feel like they are losing something because they are uncomfortable; those who want to rewind and put the leaves back on the trees.
But a tree can’t reattach the old leaf, it can only grow a new one. And those who won’t change, risk getting hurt.
To be sure, change can still be hard. But the only way to change our innate cultural resistance to it, is to practice it, purposefully.
As always, adrienne maree brown offers a framing I’ve found helpful in this moment:
"If you are overwhelmed by the big picture, make the picture you are looking at smaller.”
The world is full of swift and frenzied change right now and it FEELS LIKE A LOT. If, like me, you are feeling overwhelmed, part of that may stem from the fact that we aren’t in control of all these changes. Focusing on what we can’t change isn’t helpful and leads us to hopelessness and apathy. But, focusing on what we can change, can empower us, even if it’s something small.
Reframing our relationship with change opens us up to excitement, allowing new possibilities to sprout up instead of anxiety.
I’ve had enough big changes for the rest of 2025, so I’m keeping it small this winter, and I invite you to practice, too.
Like trees, our bodies naturally shift with the seasons, and despite our cultural reluctance to slowing down (mirrored by our individual resistance), it’s hard to argue with biology.
So, instead of trying to stay awake until the same time as in the summer, I’m shifting to an earlier bed time. As an alternative to cold food and drinks, I’ve got the kettle and the crock pot on the counter. Instead of digging in the garden or going for a bike ride, I’m getting cozy and pulling out the knitting. Rather than meeting friends at the beach, I’m inviting them to a soup potluck. I’m finding that even these small acts help me practice being at peace with the changing season - something I’ll never control.
Reshaping change from loss to opportunity, requires a new kind of perspective. Actually putting it into practice requires a new kind of strength.
Eventually, maybe we will be strong enough to collectively orient ourselves towards the big picture, and make the big changes, without feeling overwhelmed.
“We can begin by doing small things at the local level, like planting community gardens or looking out for our neighbors. That is how change takes place in living systems, not from above but from within, from many local actions occurring simultaneously.” - Grace Lee Boggs
