change starts at the top

on lessons from aspen trees, the joy of renewal, and new years reflections

Change starts at the top. 

I notice this while sitting on the roof of Gemma’s parent’s car in Breckenridge, gazing into a sea of Aspen trees. The dark, eye-shaped knots that speckled their trunks made me wonder if they were watching us back.

Their towering forms, spread across the jagged mountainside, were mostly green in the cold of early autumn. They exuded the vitality of summertime, yet I noticed many wore crowns of lemon-yellow leaves. Each signaled a coming transformation from their peaks: top-to-bottom change. I visualized the gold in their foliage saturating every leaf of the canopy.

‘Change starts at the top’, I thought to myself.

Gemma and I were holding hands, and I was crying. Her mom’s Suburban, parked off a wooded trail, lifted us six feet off the ground. From that height I could imagine I was a tree, or the child once clinging to my father’s shoulders, or a bird perched upon a lofty Aspen branch. I’d graduated college and experienced family death in the same spring. The summer winds that followed pushed me quickly into motion; I searched desperately for any sign of hope, growth, or change.

I flew from Washington to Colorado to see Gemma, my best friend from college. Gemma is a patient listener with deep emotional intelligence: in the past, she’d sown seeds in my psyche that grew into tools I’d used to better myself. During a visit filled with rummy-playing and drinking coffee at diners, we’d thankfully found some time for a heart-to-heart.

I loved confiding in her. My venting then, however, held the unexpected weight of hopelessness I wasn’t conscious of until we’d reached the forest. If you’ve ever needed your life to change more than you wanted it to, you’ll know where I found myself.

I confessed in unexpected tears that I wanted to run away, to escape from my life as I knew it. I longed for drastic change. I needed to push my wilting life into the sunlight.

Perhaps I’m just an Aspen tree, I thought. Stuck in the same space, doomed to remain where I was planted. High above the ground with the wind in my hair, I could nearly feel myself decay.

There’s no such thing as just an Aspen tree, I’d come to learn. Sitting silently among them, Gemma suggested that we shared stark similarities with the species.

Across the many lows I’ve lived through since my September in Breckenridge, especially approaching each New Year, I love reminding myself what we have in common with these incredible beings.

Aspen trees are constantly growing. Unlike other deciduous trees, Aspens photosynthesize through their bark in the off-season, even after shedding their leaves. The bark’s thin outer layer makes this possible. Despite increased vulnerability, their porous skin sustains them year-round.

Push yourself, but at a pace that works for you. There’s strength in vulnerability.

They benefit many. Beneath their fragile bark lies a photosynthetic, sugary layer of skin, sustaining the tree throughout traditionally dormant seasons. This supports not only the Aspens themselves, but the surrounding deer, elk, and moose populations. It even serves humans: Aspen bark has been known to possess medicinal qualities, specifically a chemical that resembles the one in aspirin.

Always spread goodness in your goals.

They’re resilient and adaptive. They resprout rapidly after storms or fires, due to their strong and sprawling root system. What they lack in bark durability and wood strength, they make up for in regeneration. These roots help make them the most widespread tree in North America.

Remain flexible, and roll with the punches!

Aspens are all interconnected. They fuel each other in massive congregations, spreading across vast acres of land. In Utah, a ‘stand’ of aspens named Pando (Latin for ‘I spread’), remains the largest living organism on Earth. Through their interconnected roots, they share information, give nutrients, and support each other through inclement and dangerous weather.

Lean on your support system, and support your friends in return.

When Gemma squeezed my hand, I felt her gesture keep me from decay.

w/ love, until next week,