The Oak and the Tumbleweed

My brother and I sat at the bar for a much needed catch up. We caught up on life, talked of his son’s pending nuptials, and chatted about his adjustment to recent retirement. The flurry of servers in the restaurant swirled by, delivering spinach dip and chicken tenders to the surrounding tables. And then someone caught my brother’s eye. 

“Lindsay!” he spoke with enthusiasm rising in his voice. Lindsey, he said, used to be part of his sales team. The young woman turned, wearing the restaurant uniform: black pants, button down shirt and black apron tied neatly across her waist. Upon seeing my brother, she placed her palm over hear mouth and succumbed to tears. They hugged. She had a hard time composing herself. Tears continued, and then she hugged him again. Clearly, she was overwhelmed by this chance encounter.

I realize it was a bit presumptuous, but I took a pretty good guess at the history unfolding before my eyes. You see, my brother has always been like an oak tree; steady, encouraging, strong and most dependable human I’ve ever known. His oak tree “rings” have been earned over years of commitment to doing right, showing up, and being fair. Such qualities made him really good at his executive managerial job. This is I know for sure. I’m quite sure he had many cross his professional path where his good and kind mentorship helped those far beyond the office. 

I’d never met Lindsay, but my guess is she navigated a tender and challenging chapter in her life while on my brother’s sales team. Like many of us who feel lost or overcome with hardship, feeling like a tumbleweed at the mercy of the “winds” of life can be tough. The gift of encounter with someone who “sees” you and can reach into those deepest insecurities with encouragement has the opportunity to be a real game changer in the trajectory of someone’s life. Resetting yourself against the lean of support of someone safe allows the opportunity to renew yourself beneath the shade of a sturdy oak. 

Perhaps Lindsay was navigating a tumbleweed chapter of her young life; not sure who she was, maybe not sure of her direction, or maybe had found herself in the midst of adversity. It’s hard to know for sure, but clearly, the brief reunion was filled with the kind of tenderness 
I felt honored to witness. 

The chance interaction unfolding before me struck a chord. We all know the continuum between the oak and the tumbleweed. There are times we feel quite strong like the sturdy branch that holds court over the meadow, and then there are times we feel depleted of strength, fragile and find ourselves at the mercy of the winds swirling around us. Yet, the space between the two extremes can be traversed in a nanosecond. Strength can become vulnerable when faced with adversity, while fragility can morph into might given the right call to arms. Life brings the opportunity for it all, vacillating between strength and vulnerability; knowing and not knowing. We navigate between the two, over and over again. It’s just part of the human journey. I know the call to be the oak, and I know all too well the fragility of freefall when hard life depletes you of strength. I remain grateful for all those “oaks” that helped me to reset, and have profound compassion for those who continue to try to find their way. Tumbleweeds, after all, are seeds searching for just the right soil so that they, too, can take root.

As Lindsay returned to her duties, my brother lingered for a moment in silence. I knew better than to probe. His loyalty and respect to the interchange between professional boss and kind mentor will leave her story tucked within the sturdy grains of oak that most often define him.