Resilience taught by a tree branch
In 2010, my backyard neighbors were cutting down a tree that hung over into our property. As they were cutting it down they realized a thick, overgrown branch was stuck to the power lines. Instead of trying to force it off and risking electrocution or a power outage, they decided to leave it. Better to let it fall naturally than facing the risks associated with its removal. It’d probably fall off with a big gust of wind, so it won’t be up for too long.
Well, fast-forward to 2021, and the branch is still there. This hefty, chunky branch has been wrapped around our powerlines, watching over our backyard with great attention for the last 11 years. Simply put, it’s an eyesore. My parents and I are used to it by now, but whenever we have company someone's eyes inevitably travel to the powerlines and the topic of conversation finds its way back to the branch.
“How long has it been there?”
“Have they tried to remove it?”
“Have you thought about calling someone?”
“Does it ever move?”
And my parents and I always answer:
“*insert number of years*”
“Yes, but it is stuck”
“Yes, everyone says it is stuck”
“No, it is stuck”
In other words, the branch isn’t going anywhere any time soon.
That branch has lasted through every gust of wind in the books — most notably, those of 2012’s Hurricane Sandy — and has remained in the same spot through it all. Always perched in the corner, looking over us, watching. Kind of comforting when you think about it.
This is less about the look of the branch and more about the fact that it’s been there for such a long time. If anything else, the branch is damn resilient. Against all odds, all gusts of wind, all hurricanes, tornadoes, Nor’easters, blizzards, the branch remains. It’s watched over countless birthday parties and family barbecues, “pre-proms,” but it’s also been there for the monotonous day-to-day activities, like my dog's routine sniffs around the lawn and my mom following behind to clean up after his sniffs are over.
As much as we didn’t want it to be there, the branch remained. It stood proudly and refused to budge. Ignoring the resistance it was getting, whether it was from us, our guests, or Mother Nature Herself, it held its ground and remained.
I don’t have much to say about this other than the fact that sometimes, I’m envious of the durability of the branch. I often shy away from situations that push me or make me uncomfortable. This tendency was heightened by the year of solitude that was 2020 — social obligations went out the window, and it suddenly became acceptable and encouraged to sit in the comfort of your own home, away from the harm of the outdoors.
As life is reopening and social obligations are returning, I’ve realized situations that were once a breeze for me are now in a completely different time zone than my safe place. The recharged and energized feeling I once got after being surrounded by people has turned into resentment and exhaustion. While I never considered myself a true extrovert — being an only child, I’ve always loved my alone time — I feel that my once extrovert-leaning ambivert-ness has been replaced by my now overpowering introverted tendencies. I’ve grown so comfortable in my routines and habits that the idea of anything threatening it sends me running back into my cave, blanket swaddled around me so tightly you’d think I was a newborn, the night’s YouTube already queued.
To get past this, I’ve looked to my tree branch for guidance. No matter what goes wrong — be it the weather or confused house guests — the tree branch carries on in its spot, seemingly unbothered by the gusts of wind and occasional heckling. The tree branch has reminded me that everything is temporary. The wind always stops. The guests always forget its presence. Then it’s just the tree branch, on its powerline, peacefully looking over my backyard. Persisting through the resistance leads to a calming reward of solitude in the place where it is most comfortable. If you’re losing me, what I’m trying to say is:
Enduring through annoying or uncomfortable situations leads to eventual comfort and solitude when they’re over. To put it even more simply — nothing lasts forever.
Maybe this whole idea is a stretch. Maybe I’m looking for signs in the wrong places. Maybe I should just buckle down, swallow my pride and do the things I dread. But I am, for better or worse, not that kind of person. If comparing myself to an annoying little branch that won’t get off a powerline helps me enter a crowded party without my heart skipping multiple beats, then so be it. I’ll take all the help I can get.
