Sitting on My Hands
I am in my seat in the beautiful auditorium. I’m listening intently as the poet gives her talk. Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer is speaking amazing truths.
But I’m sitting on my hands.
I’m fighting with myself to not take notes.
Often when I hear a great speaker, I’m clicking on my phone keyboard to write down key points as they say them. The practice has served me well through the years. I have both paper and digital notebooks holding insights I might never have remembered otherwise.
I like capturing wisdom while it’s fresh—then having a record I can return to later to reread and maybe incorporate into my life.
All good things.
But there’s a tradeoff.
While I’m copying down one brilliant sentence, the next one is already being spoken. My attention splits because my brain can’t record one thing and fully listen to another at the same time. Neither task gets my full presence.
Who can truly pay attention to two things at once?
So as I listen to Rosemerry, I try to do just one thing:
Listen.
The Leaves That Don’t Let Go
For the month of March, my singular focus with my One Word Shift has been Nature.
I’m paying closer attention to the subtle shifts happening outside: the yellow daffodils pushing through the soil, the tiny unfurling of new leaves, and the stretching of daylight hours that brings us more life.
But I’m also noticing something else.
The dead leaves.
In early spring, when most trees have stood naked for months, a few are still dressed in last year’s leaves. Brown and brittle, long past their prime, these leaves have been hanging on stubbornly all winter long.
The internet tells me there’s actually a name for this: marcescence.
Certain trees—especially some oaks and beeches—hold onto their dead leaves instead of dropping them in the autumn like most deciduous trees.
Scientists aren’t exactly sure why, but they theorize that the dead leaves stay on the branches to protect new buds, discourage deer and other animals from nibbling tender growth, and provide fresh nutrients in the spring when they do fall.
Nature, it seems, isn’t in any rush to let go. Not until it’s time. Not until the baby leaves arrive and gently push the old ones out of the way.
Our Own Marcescence
As I sit listening to Rosemerry, I wonder about my own connection to holding on and letting go.
I’ve always liked holding onto words the way those marcescent trees hold onto leaves. Notes from talks. Quotes from books. Lines that strike me as important enough to keep, too meaningful to drop.
Sometimes that’s helpful. Last year’s leaves serve a purpose, after all. So do old words.
But other times I wonder if my intellectual marcescence—clinging to old words even after their season has passed—keeps me from noticing what I’m hearing right now.
The Vase or the Sieve
During her talk, Rosemerry shares a story. She had told a friend about trying to become a bigger vase so she could hold all the emotions she was feeling. (Read the poem here: Pourous)
But her friend gently challenged the premise.
Why be a vase?
Perhaps instead of trying to hold everything, she could be a sieve and let the experiences simply move through her.
Ahh.
I hear the lesson.
I don’t write it down.
One Leaf Worth Keeping
Later, after the talk ends, I pick up my phone. I type the line into my notes:
Be a sieve, not a vase.
That simple nugget of wisdom feels like a leaf worth keeping.
Hopefully the rest of the talk has done its work simply by passing through.
Maybe that’s a shift worth noticing: knowing when to hold tight and when to let go.
Some words need to stay with us a long while, until their message is buried deep in our soul or until something new and improved pushes them out of the way.
Other words can drop away quickly once they’ve completed their seasonal work, like leaves returning to the soil in the autumn months.
And like the trees outside our windows, we don’t have to force either approach.
Just let the shifts happen, each in their best time.
Question for you:
Do you write it down when you hear something meaningful—or do you prefer to just listen? Share in the comments.
Read more about Shift:
- A Small Shift: Learning to Notice Instead of Fix
This is what a missing glove is teaching me about letting go. - What If This Moment Is Asking for a Different Pace?
When plans fall apart, learning to shift your pace can change things. - Noticing the Shift: What Keeps Blooming When We Pay Attention
A Share Four Somethings post about discovering what keeps blooming in everyday life.