Lessons from Addie the tree

I have 50 houseplants. I counted recently and was both shocked and proud. One of my favorites, and oldest among them, is my umbrella tree Adelaide. Addie for short.

If you've been reading along for a while you have heard about her before. She teaches me a lot of lessons perhaps because her size makes them harder to ignore. (For reference, I can stand under the branch stretching out to the right. The leaves cup my head like a shower cap. Believe me, it’s awesome.)

Her most recent lesson is in letting go.

For the record, I’m not a fan. Holding on is much more comfortable. Holding tightly to people, things, memories. I clench my teeth at night.

Holding on can feel safer even when letting go is ultimately healthier.

Which is exactly what she taught me this week.

All the way at the top are two new branches reaching upward in bright green. Usually Addie grows one of these at a time so when two shoot up within days of each other, I take it as a sign of growth for me too. Abundance! Prosperity! Opportunities and money and love are on their way.

Then I noticed two more growths. A third tiny branch between those other two started to reach out, and another bright green branch reached out from along the trunk.

And what was happening in the middle? You can see from this photo. Several branches were turning yellow, signaling they would fall off soon. When that happens I always worry about the opposite sign it may bring into my life.

Rationally, one might think: with four new growths at once, it makes sense that four old growths will fall off in order to make room.

It took me a while to come to grips with that. In my mind, the falling off part meant sadness, loss, grieving and I wanted no part.

That was quickly followed though by the bigger lesson: a little help can go a long way.

If you look closer at this happy awkward tree, you’ll notice that it can’t get too much taller. If new branches keep reaching upward, no matter how often I move it into another room with higher ceilings, the tree will reach its limit.

On the other hand, those bright green leaves on the trunk could be a whole new way for it to keep growing. To stabilize itself more. To expand and reach in new directions.

You’re getting the point here and I did too. Except for what it would mean I needed to do.

Lop off that new third growth up top in order to, in biology terms, “shock the tree” into sending energy into the trunk and encourage growth there.

I may have cried.

It worked though. The new leaves on the trunk grew faster.

Okay, okay, I thought. That meant looking around at my life in a similar way. What was being pruned to allow easier, healthier, more stabilizing growth?

My daily schedule is lighter right now. While I worry about it meaning I’m not doing enough (we just talked about that!), maybe like Addie it’s allowing me to grow in a new way. It’s giving me more time to write and that feels really good.

Where is that kind of pruning happening for you?

What is being let go, or falling away, and what needs a little help (a cathartic lopping off perhaps) to stimulate healthy, stabilizing growth for you for the long term?

Addie and I believe in you.