I went to the desert and observed a tree that appeared simultaneously dead and alive.
A Juniper, I was told, that can restrict nutrient supply to certain branches in order to ensure the survival of the tree in times of scarcity.
If only we could all be so wise —to quit watering the parts of ourselves that are draining more than they're providing;
To recognize when a situation calls for drastic measures and to have the strength and faith to follow through with our own self-destruction for the sake of self-cultivation.
I think the catch is being able to discern which areas to keep and which to release; for once the decision is made, there must surely be a point of no return —a moment at which the deterioration has spread so deeply that one can no longer change their mind about the situation, but instead will be forced to endure the tempest of their own whims.
It is in this way that too many of us end up squandering our existence here—
Standing at the precipice of our own indecision, unwilling to make the cuts that would allow us to grow freely.
About This Poem
In 2023, I made the decision to embark on a solo road trip across multiple states, hoping to reconnect with myself in a more authentic way. Along the way, I came to realize that I had spent the majority of my life constructing walls around myself—barriers built from the narrow beliefs that others held about who I could or should be. I allowed their fears and insecurities to become my own, and it left me wasting away with no real source of nourishment or growth.
When I learned about the Utah Juniper and its ability to self-prune, I immediately felt a deep kinship with the tree. I realized that my best chance at survival might be to echo its innate wisdom. I am now on a journey to determine which aspects of myself are essential for my well-being—and which must be released in hopes of fostering longevity and growth.
Next week:
Pursuit of Nappiness by
 | A guest post by
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