Not all the trees behind the puddle got the same memo. Some are clearly committed to autumn, with leaves changing, colors appearing, and branches becoming visible. Others seem to have decided there is absolutely no reason to rush into anything. They remain green and full, apparently planning to participate when they are good and ready. No one seems particularly concerned about it.
The yellow tree doesn’t look at the green one and say, “You should really be farther along by now.” The green tree isn’t worried that everyone else has started changing first. There is no competition, deadline, or correct pace. Each tree responds to the season in its own time.
People could probably learn something from that. We love timelines. We tell ourselves that, by a certain age, we should have accomplished something, or that enough time has passed and we should be over something. We wonder why everyone else seems to have figured something out, why we are still struggling, why someone else isn’t ready, or why something hasn’t changed yet.
We apply timelines to healing, grief, relationships, careers, parenting, recovery, decisions, forgiveness, and learning. We even apply them to becoming comfortable with who we are. When our lives don’t follow the schedule we imagined, we sometimes assume something is wrong. Maybe nothing is wrong. Maybe transformation simply takes the time it takes.
I think grief especially gets treated as though there should be a reasonable timeline. We assume that, after enough time passes, we should feel differently. But love doesn’t check the calendar. Neither does loss.
Something can hurt differently after a year without hurting less. We can be completely functional and still miss someone. We can laugh again and still grieve. We can build a meaningful life around an absence without that absence disappearing. That isn’t failure, but part of being human.
Growth has its own timing too. Sometimes, we understand something intellectually long before we’re able to live it. We may know the boundary we need, the habit we want to change, what we should probably release, and the conversation we need to have, yet still not be ready. Maybe knowing and becoming ready are two different processes.
Patience doesn’t mean we never challenge ourselves. Sometimes, we need a push, waiting becomes avoidance, or change requires us to do something uncomfortable before we feel ready. But there is a difference between encouraging growth and shaming ourselves for the speed of it.
Behind the puddle, October isn’t demanding uniformity. One tree changes while another waits, and one branch is nearly bare while another remains covered. Together, they make the landscape.
Maybe our lives are allowed to look like that too. Someone else’s progress doesn’t make mine late. Someone else’s readiness doesn’t determine mine, and someone else’s grief doesn’t tell me how mine should look. Perhaps I can offer other people that same patience.
They may not be where I think they should be. They may need more time or less. They may change in ways I don’t understand, or they may never become what I expected. I don’t get to set their seasons either.
Eventually, the landscape behind the puddle will transform. But it won’t happen all at once. It doesn’t need to. It can change one tree, one branch, one leaf, and one ordinary day at a time. Maybe that’s enough for us too.
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