The Year of the Tree

New Year ponderings + a Soul Guide PDF

Dear Friends,

Happy (almost) new year! First of all, let me say thank you so much to everyone who pre-ordered my book You are a Tree! It means such a great deal to me as an author to have solid pre-orders before the book releases. And thank you also for your patience as I input your free two month subscription (or extension to your current paid subscription!) to Substack. I had to input each subscription manually, which took some time. But my main motivation for the delay was actually because I wanted to give you the longest period of free content possible and I knew I wouldn’t be posting over Christmas! So there you have it. I hope that you enjoy the next two months of tree related content. I’m very thankful for your support. :)

Your first treat is at the bottom of this post: a new year’s soul inventory! It has been my custom for the past half decade or so to compile what I have referred to as a New Year “Soul Guide.” The idea behind it was to stop and pay attention to my life— to take stock of the year past, to attend to my own mental, spiritual, and bodily health, and to dream, adjust, and plan for the new year. This year’s soul guide is tree related drawing its inspiration from Psalm One. Hope you enjoy!

But enough of this! I want to share a thought in my mind as we enter into this new year, a year which I am calling in my own mind “The Year of the Tree.”

I spent Christmas in Japan this year. Hokkaido to be more specific. To say that Hokkaido is thick with snow is an understatement: it is deep in snow, it is plunged in deep winter. I grew up in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies, more than a mile high of elevation, but I’ve never seen anything like it. It snows in Hokkaido every day, sometimes many inches. Life would, perhaps, grind to a complete halt here were it not for the ski enthusiasts, who find Japan’s snow the best in the world.

(Let me briefly pause to say that after not properly skiing in over ten years, I hit the slopes in earnest this week. I was very wobbly and worried at first, but by the end I skied one (1) red slope! I know this is not much to the braver amongst you, but I am very proud of myself! And on that note, I must share a picture of these miniature ponies which I found at the bottom of a slope, which somehow entirely makes sense in Japan…)

Little old me skiing in front of Mount Yoti

Sustenance for the aforementioned skiing…!

On one day of our trip, we had strawberries.

They were wonderful. Rich and red and so, so sweet. But I found it somewhat strange. Strawberries? Sweet ones? This doesn’t make sense. I’m used to the early summer strawberries of Scotland. I began to wonder from where these strawberries came— another country, a green house buried in snow but whirring away with electric resistance to the ordinary seasons?

It made me think of a line from this song:

Land Sailor

Deep winter strawberry

Endless summer, ever spring

A vast preserve

Aisle after aisle in reach

Every commoner made a king

The song is on an album about the way that technology shapes our lives, for the better and the worse. Vienna Teng, a former software engineer, suggests that we live in a world that forgets it has seasons. It makes us feel powerful to not be dependent upon the seasons— it makes us feel rich and secure; “every commoner made a King.” But perhaps more than that, we do not simply ignore the seasons, we just don’t know that we have them. And this comes at a great cost. We spend money and gas to get these unseasonal fruits, we fill the air with pollution, and as we attempt to ignore the seasons, the weather responds in confusion. The earth groans with exhaustion as we work her beyond her means, forgetting the seasons.

But perhaps humans have seasons too.

Springs and Winters, Summers and Falls. But sometimes we act like we’re all summer, all harvest. We want to produce and produce, to keep up the speed. We become embarrassed if nothings significant, important, or productive happens in too long a span of time. But just like we make the earth groan when we forget her seasons, we too begin to crack with weariness when we do not acknowledge the seasons of our own lives; seasons where we have less energy, where roots are growing deep. Seasons where there is chaotic abundance we can’t keep track of. Seasons where things are beautifully coming to an end and we can’t see what might be next. But to live well, we must pay attention to our own seasons.

This is an idea I’m taking with me into the New Year. I am trying to notice the shifting hues of the season of my life, to live within its limitation and fruitfulness.

And I hope you might do the same, and find beauty in whatever season in which you find yourself.

On that note, attached below you will find my soul guide for the year, which I have titled The Year of the Tree. If you’re already a member (or just got upgraded today… thank you!!) you should be able to access it. If you’re not a member and would like to access it, you have two options 1. Become a paid member or 2. (my preference) preorder You are a Tree and let me know so I can give you one month of free access to my Substack where I’ll be sharing special You are a Tree related content this month. And really, whether you want the guide or not, I’d be most thankful if you’d pre-order my book…

Alright, friends! Signing off. I hope you have a beautiful new year!

Warmly and cozily,
Joy

SOUL GUIDE PDF BELOW: