There's this tree right outside the front windows of my apartment.
It's my favorite tree, because every summer, it blooms these beautiful, bright pink flowers. When we first moved to LA and into this home, it was such a cheery presence to welcome us...and every year, I wait in anticipation for those lovely flowers to once again show themselves to us, if only for a little while.
Last year, I was nervous when I didn't see the buds opening when I felt like they should. But luckily, at the end of June, the first flowers blossomed! I took a picture of it and sent it to my partner (along with the gif from The Office with Michael yelling "It's happening!" because it's exactly the energy I have when I see these flowers start to show up). I was elated that I'd be able to enjoy these beauties once again.
This year, the beginning of July arrived, and still no flowers. The tree looked like it was nowhere close to blossoming the incredible pink rays of proverbial sunshine. And, considering LA is mid-drought (when are we not, really), I thought, maybe this year it just won't happen.
But a few days into July, there arrived the first tiny blossoms.
This tree always starts slow. Just a few bits of pink to start...you might miss them if you weren't looking.
And then, slowly and yet also suddenly somehow, here they come.
Right on time.
Nature's timing is fluid. Intuitive. Responsive to the environment. On a schedule, and yet somehow also does what's best in the moment, always trusting the natural rhythms.
This beloved tree outside of my window wasn't a "late bloomer" this year. They blossomed when they did, and so it is. Right on time, because time is a construct that nature is too big to be held by.
And we are nature. Nature is not something that is only outside of us, it is also us. That's why when we feel pulled or pushed by timelines placed upon us by [you name it: capitalism, family, friends, traditions, religions, our own unkind narratives], we feel it. In our bodies, our spirits, we can feel drained, suffocated, drowned by these arbitrary expectations.
But it can still feel difficult to challenge that push-pull, to be more accepting of where we're at and how we're doing right now.
Sometimes it's easier to honor the natural rhythm of the tree outside our window than it is to see the Sacred in our own intuitive flow.
If this resonates, please know that you're not alone. Even as I write about this tree—truly a role model for me in how I want to choose to view my own precious timeline—I know that I need reminders about this all. the. time.
It's not easy. But the more we connect with our bodies, the natural elements we carry and our intuition guiding us, the easier it can become to trust our own timing, whatever that looks like for each of us.
And here's the thing.
If this tree hadn't blossomed this summer, I would have been really sad. I really do look forward to it every year, probably with more gusto than most people have about trees at all. And also, flowers or not, I know that this tree has been a constant for me, a way that I feel grounded with the earth, all year round...it is sacred not just when it is blooming, but in all seasons of life.
We can have the feelings we have, wholly honoring whatever they might be, while also holding them alongside the Knowing that we're still ok. That our timing is still just fine. That we haven't failed, we're not too slow or too fast, and that this particular timeline is what we have to work with...and so it is.
You are right on time.
Pause and take a moment to be centered, grounded into your body, and say that to yourself. Embody that wisdom. Allow whatever feelings that come up to be held alongside it, trusting that you can allow sadness, joy, grief, calm—all of it—to coexist with your intuitive knowing that you are right on time.