Last week, I returned to the rolling hills in California after six years away. This time, I’m north of the Bay instead of east. As I began my hike up the local mountain, my heart swelled walking amongst the majestic live and blue oaks on the first ascent. 

Trees have been a constant companion during the biggest changes in my life.They are the first thing I notice when I go somewhere new. I think we can all relate to trees – their sturdiness, the protection they offer, their beauty and remarkable resilience. They are masters of the death and rebirth process. They connect down through the earth and stretch up toward the sky depicting grounding and inspiration all at once. 

Like many people in their mid-50s, I have a number of life transitions under my belt. Trees have supported me through them all. I moved 2,000 miles across the United States in my late twenties, switched careers, married, became a mom, moved to Europe, returned to the US via the Pacific Northwest, divorced, and now, find myself amongst these majestic California Oaks again. 

The oak, cypress, eucalyptus, olive and chestnut trees supported me when I was at a crossroads in my life and walked Spain’s Camino de Santiago de Compestella to signify my career change. The eucalyptus trees in Tilden Regional Park in Berkeley were a godsend when I was in graduate school and the program required a lot of T-groups and family systems theory. Nothing like the smell of eucalplytus to help you through individuation. Further east, the Pleasanton Ridge offered me a place of refuge from the demands of raising children and being a working mom. Not to mention the countless walk-and-talks I had with friends amongst the bay laurels and oaks. 

The conifers in the local forests 10 miles outside Zürich near our home and the mountain and spruce pines in the Alps were comforting as I processed and grieved the changing of my marriage. They provided protection from the literal and metaphorical elements – escaping the sun on hot days and also a place for me to scream alone when I was frustrated and confused. 

The red cedars and big leaf maples on the little Island we moved to in the Pacific Northwest to help our sons transition back to the USA are ubiquitous. It’s an island full of trees and I struggled with their density — looking for the crack that would let the light in. 

Sometimes, the healthiest thing you can do is let go and find new trees. It takes boldness to release that which no longer expresses the highest version of who you are and it takes courage to find new trees to support you in who you are becoming.  May we all find new trees when we need them.

Love and light,

Ellen