There is a Giant Sequoia tree growing in our yard that we have probably worried about more than any reasonable person should worry about a tree.

We planted it three years ago on the drainage side of our property and we thought the combination of water and partial sun would give it the best chance of thriving. You would think it was part of our family for how much we proceeded to check on it constantly.

We adjusted the soil, watched the water and talked to people who knew considerably more about growing Giant Sequoias than we did.

And for a while, everything looked good until it didnt. 

The Pacific Northwest winds started pushing it sideways.

Not enough to completley knock it over but enough that every time I looked out at it, I noticed the strain and the lean.

We had done everything we knew to do and it still wasn't strong enough to hold itself upright against the winter winds.

So my husband had the idea to drive a bamboo stake into the ground beside it and he tied the tree to it.

I remember standing there being slightly disappointed about that moment at the time.

We had planted this tree expecting it to grow and now we were quite literally holding it up.

Except fast forward and here we are now going into year four.

The tree has more than doubled in size. It's full of new healthy growth everywhere. 

And it's still tied to the stake.

That tree got me thinking because like the tree I think we have a tendency to misunderstand certain stages of growth.

We are remarkably comfortable supporting something when it's brand new. Of course the new employee needs help. Of course the new business needs investment. Of course we're going to have to learn when we're doing something for the first time.

But somewhere along the way, our expectations change.

We start thinking that if something is really working, it shouldn't need so much support anymore.

I see this in organizations all the time. A new initiative launches and everyone "knows" there will be a transition period. Then a few months pass and people aren't behaving differently fast enough. The new process isn't sticking everywhere and leaders are still having to reinforce it.

Something starts leaning.

And the conversation quietly changes from what does this need? to is this working?

I think we do the same thing to ourselves.

We make a change. Take a new role. Start something we've wanted to build. Decide to work differently.

Then six months later we're frustrated that it still requires conscious effort.

We expected growth to eventually look effortless but maybe that's not always what growth looks like.

Sometimes the fact that something still needs support doesn't mean the support isn't working in fact, the support may be exactly why it's still growing.

There is also an obvious point when you have to admit something isn't working. I'm not advocating for tying increasingly elaborate bamboo stakes to a dead tree for the next ten years and calling it resilience.

But I do think there's an important distinction between something that isn't growing and something that isn't strong enough yet to withstand the conditions around it without support.

My little sequoia has been quietly reminding me that the stake isn't evidence that the tree failed.

It's giving the tree enough stability to spend its energy growing the roots and strength that will eventually make the stake unnecessary.

And maybe there are places in our own lives and work where we could extend ourselves the same patience.

Your Anchor for this week

Think about something in your life or work that still needs more support than you expected it would by now.

Before deciding that support is evidence that it isn't working, ask yourself:

Is this actually failing, or is it still growing and developing the strength I'm expecting it to have?

Those are two very different problems.

🩵 What I’m loving

This week I'm sharing a poem that I've always been fond of and think it ties nicely into this week's episode. Although the poem is about an Oak tree and not a Giant Sequoia, I think you'll understand why I love it. The Oak Tree poem by Jonny Ray Ryder, Jr. 

Remember, you’re still the author of what comes next.

Warmly,
Heather

Anchored in Possibility™ | The future belongs to those who know who they are when everything changes.