What is supporting you?

There is an Eastern Red Cedar in the woods near my house, who has been a dear friend to me these past few years. Around the time of my one year Covidiversary, I found myself sitting next to her, weeping with grief. One of her branches was attached by a vine to a neighboring snag, and with each waft of breeze, this branch creaked. My crying and the branch’s creaking merged into a single song. I felt seen by this tree. Held by that place. Supported in a way that allowed me to grieve fully and deeply. Since then, I have greeted Cedar the way you might greet any friend who has seen you reduced to a shaking mass of snot and tears and been brave enough to stay rooted by your side. 

Sadly, my friend is not rooted anymore. About a month ago, a big windstorm blew through, peeling shingles from the roof, tipping my kids’ basketball hoop, and tearing both Cedar and snag from the ground. I touch her each time I pass by—her peeling, red-brown bark, her scaled green leaves, her flexible branches. Sometimes I take a branch in one hand and arc into a backbend, allowing her to hold me up, trusting her support. She still feels alive to me. And in some sense, she must be; new cones—waxy, purple, and berry-like—are forming at the tips of some of her leaves, though in other parts her green is fading rapidly to golden brown. I scatter a handful of cones about the woods, an offering of appreciation for this friend who has been a support to me.

When I think of the word ‘support’, my mind usually goes first to my human family and friends and then to financial resources and societal safety nets. But a few days ago, in a hard moment when I craved someone or something to hold me up, I thought not of any human or safety net, but rather of this tree and of the forest that surrounds her. I let myself feel held by that beauty, though it was a half-mile away from me. And then I noticed my bed holding me, pressing gently upward against my gravity. I felt the warm air surrounding me, and I thought of David Whyte’s beautiful words: “Your great mistake is to act the drama as if you were alone. As if life were a progressive and cunning crime with no witness to the tiny hidden transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny the intimacy of your surroundings. . . . Everything is waiting for you.”

What if everything is waiting for you—waiting for you to be present? What if everything that exists around you exists to support you? What might the next hour of your life be like if you let yourself believe this for just that long?

On the heels of a hard week, I am settling into the support of a well-worn wooden chair beneath me. The support of a fluffy puppy curled up nearby. The support of birdsong and coffee, of cozy socks and a phone call with a new friend.

What is supporting you? What is bringing softness or laughter into your day? What is easing your path or lightening your burdens? What is inspiring you to open to change or growth? What is helping you to connect with the beauty, truth, goodness, and love that live inside you?