“Why are trees such social beings? Why do they share food with their own species and sometimes even go so far as to nourish their competitors? The reasons are the same as for human communities: there are advantages to working together. A tree is not a forest. On its own, a tree cannot establish a consistent local climate. It is at the mercy of wind and weather. But together, many trees create an ecosystem that moderates extremes of heat and cold, stores a great deal of water, and generates a great deal of humidity. And in this protected environment, trees can live to be very old. To get to this point, the community must remain intact no matter what. If every tree were looking out only for itself, then quite a few of them would never reach old age. Regular fatalities would result in many large gaps in the tree canopy, which would make it easier for storms to get inside the forest and uproot more trees. The heat of summer would reach the forest floor and dry it out. Every tree would suffer.”
The moment when the lush metaphor of trees inspired me to write this. Huddart Park, Woodside.
25 Zoom calls last week. I was pushed to my limit mentally and physically- staring at a screen and emotionally needing to dig deep to provide the best care for my patients. We’re all tired. Struggling. Exhausted. Over it. The novelty of neighborhood walks, home workouts and home-cooked meals, puzzles, and making sourdough bread have long worn off, and my patients look to me for new inspiration and ideas. Last week I cancelled Zoom lunch dates and Zoom happy hours as a mode of self-preservation. I felt bad, but I know my body well enough to recognize when I’m on the edge of burnout. As healthcare providers, we need to keep our own cup filled to best serve others.
So on Saturday, I ran. Ran off the stress and the overwhelm. The frustration. The Zoom fatigue. My feet found solace in the soft pine needles as a welcomed relief from the pavement. I inhaled the forest air, and noticed the towering trees above me, all standing in their own magnificence, yet together creating a community and interconnected canopy.
We’re like trees in a huge forest. We grow independently but need the support of the community to flourish. When a tree breaks, neighboring trees communicate through the soil fungi and deliver nutrients through the root system to feed and nurse it back to health.
This week I was that tree. Weary and on the verge of cracking. Working remotely can feel isolating at times, but each day I received a jolt of kindness and immediate help from my team when I needed it most. On Wednesday I received an email with four patient survey comments that were filled with encouragement- each one uniquely validating my work. My thirsty roots drank them all in, so grateful for the timeliness they were received. Opening handwritten cards from friends after a long day were unexpected surprises that filled my heart with joy.
We may be siloed, but we are not alone. We’re intricately connected like the root system of the forest. Nourishment often delivered discreetly and invisibly, but critical for our survival. Alone we die. Together, we thrive.