A leaf that is.

Sometimes nature just falls in your lap. Literally.

Meet my leaf. It’s nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. If anything it’s... well just a little leaf.

Ever go looking for a sign? Hyper-vigilant, waiting, looking. Perhaps hoping to notice something you can grasp onto; something that tells you that this direction you’re headed in is right or that decision is best. How to make sense of X.

For me, I'm glad it was this leaf. ​A graceful, poignant landing. And more importantly, a lesson in waiting patiently for that next blog topic! 

​I vouch for most Arts Therapists out there when I say we tend to process content a tad abstract.

It is an aspect I value most about our profession and telling of the world we live and breathe. Sitting on the edge of emergence, curiously and yet loosely held by threads of ‘ah-huhs’. Arts Therapy invites space to explore this concept: content in process.

Background context: Leading up to this moment, I had been considering a dilemma shared during a client session. What I observed and was pondering at the time, was this undercurrent of others need to have us fit neatly into a societal expectation. ​

A nice neat human in their neat, perfectly defined box. It feels so familiar.
​But why and how has it gotten to be like this?

As I twirled my leaf, I noticed. Not that the leaf had an imperfect shape, but instead my thinking that it even needed the missing edge. I caught myself red-handed, heading down a mental path of miss judgy-pants. Eesh.

I held my finger up against the side that was missing a chunk, almost as if I was preventing some impending mishap.
​
Process: Curiosity peaked, I found myself drawn down the rabbit hole. I decided to trace around the outer edge of the leaf. I move the leaf aside to inspect. Somehow this outline felt more defined and less about the missing piece. Why? This word ‘perfection’ came to mind. Maybe it’s something in the constant need for what we expect, or how we want something to be, or even what we perceive in someone else. Reflecting on this, it’s kind of exhausting. There's a heaviness.

That word ‘reflection’.

I reintroduce the leaf and flip it over to mirror back at that definite solid line. The leaf just is.

I wonder what’s changed about this little piece of nature that now feels more appealing in all of its raw and real originality. Alongside and unwavering.

My offering: How might we invite and allow others to show up more like this – rather than focusing on the defined shape we were expecting or thought they should fill?
 
Be kind and go gently.


Words by Jasmine