… but ‘sudden’ is an illusion……
Photo by Casper van Battum on Unsplash
Spring arrives suddenly.
I walk the wild of my garden, amid young trees that one day will be a forest if left enough alone.
They’re beech trees. The deep brown leaves of last year cling on through the winter, clothing them in memories.
Overnight, the buds of new growth explode in my eye.
New replaces old. The future manifests into the present.
That’s what spring is. The life-force. The triumph of resilience over entropy.
After the long, dark, difficult months of late winter, spring arrives in a fanfare of birdsong, like a traveling circus to a remote mountain village.
Change seems sudden.
It’s the same at the other cusp of the year, as summer fades and days shorten. Though I love the dark wildness of winter, here on the wild edge of the Atlantic, I love the longer, warmer days too, and am seldom ready to let them go.
Then there’ll be a day when, suddenly, I’m walking through fallen leaves and I realize — ‘Autumn’s here’.
There’ll have been hints. The cooling of the air, the departure of the swallows, and summer businesses reaching season’s end. Then comes the day when I know the transition has happened.
This suddenness is an illusion.
A sudden change — in beech trees or the human mind — is something much prepared for.
Spring happens suddenly only when conditions are right.
Spring comes because, in the time of winter’s rest, there’s been space to build energy and power. Without the sleep of winter, there’d be no spring.
That life force is unleashed only when particular conditions are met. A few consecutive days of sun. The right amount of rain. A late frost.
We each need different conditions, suddenly to flower, but we all need periods of rest to build power.
I see my sense of Spring’s suddenness as an illusion. For the beech trees, now is their time. My oak sapling is still dormant. There’s leaves appearing on the apple trees, but the willow is showing only faint signs of stirring. The daffodils already have faded.
Each living thing thrives when it’s rested enough to build its power, and when its specific conditions are suddenly met.
I’m conscious. I don’t have to wait for the outside world to create conditions for my thriving. I work to bring those conditions around. I work to make my Springtime.
But, like a beech, an oak, or an apple tree, I need patience. I can’t force the world to align for me. I build conditions, and I’m available to take advantage of what arises. Patience too is part of the process of growth.
Speaking to a coaching client a few days ago, she said: “I suddenly find I’m a lot more present and calm in the face of feeling overwhelmed’. She experiences her change suddenly. It’s not. She’s built her resilience patiently, detail by detail, and suddenly conditions have arisen to show her how she’s changed.
Change happens quickly. Building change takes time.
If I’ve not embraced Winter, the time of inner focus, introspection, and digging into the store cupboard, when Spring offers itself, I’ll not be able to take advantage of what the universe invites me to.
After their sudden transition, my beech trees will finally shed last year’s leaves, and dress themselves in a glorious new coat. Soon my oak sapling will awaken and, between now and autumn, double in size. The apple trees will blossom, and then grow fruit.
Will it be a good harvest? That’s outside my control.
Everything will flourish in its time.
I too.
You too.
Trust the rest time of strengthening, recovering, and building, patiently, the potential for sudden growth.
We are of nature, not apart from it.
I coach and mentor Artists, Educators, Spiritual Workers, and anyone who believes things can be better. Together we‘ll dissolve the blockage, become less distracted, and fuel personal growth through resilience and joy.
I’ll hold a space for you if you’re ready, and together we’ll move from holding back to stepping forward.
Be in touch if you’d like to talk.