Cherry blossom panic

On the impermanence of Springtime and existential anxiety.

All seasons, by their nature, are temporary. Yet some seem to last much longer than others (looking at you, winter), perhaps because the changes we witness in nature are more gradual. Spring always seems, to me, the shortest, followed by autumn. The changeable weather can bring an unsettled feeling, combined with the burst of energy in nature and the rapid changes in the trees and plants from one day to the next, there’s a sense of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it about this season. As a therapist, I notice trends in people’s anxiety and there’s always a spike in late March. When I combine my therapy and nature connection wisdom I can see the two are linked; this is the season of impermanence and change in nature, something that makes us humans (and we are a part of nature) twitchy.

I love collecting untranslatable words and phrases from other languages, especially when they express a complex emotion that we don’t have a word for in English. Many of my favourites are Japanese:

Wabi sabi (侘び寂び) – a concept in Japanese aesthetics that speaks of beauty that is transient and imperfect.

Mono no aware (物の哀れ) – this phrase expresses awareness of impermanence. Literally, 'the pathos of things’ also translates as 'an empathy toward things', or 'a sensitivity to ephemera' (Wikipedia).

 There are many things in life that are transient, including of course, life itself. Dwelling too much on this makes us fearful; frozen in terror or morbid and nihilistic. But not enough awareness of this leaves us in denial; chronically avoiding or delaying things, not cherishing the moment. This is the lesson of cherry blossom season. In Japan, they have Hanami: flower viewing picnics and parties under the frothy pink branches. Time put aside to enjoy and share the temporary beauty of the trees in their Springtime glory. The brief nature of cherry blossom season is celebrated; it is special because it is short lived.

Things with short time windows can make me anxious. I’ve always had an awareness of time, and its finite nature. It’s what lead me to philosophy in my teens and existential therapy in my 20s. It was the theme of my anxiety dreams as a young adult, during a stressful period of my life when I was always in a rush, but not being able to slow down. Thankfully I found Mindfulness, and a way to be more present in my one wild and precious life.

These days I avoid rushing at all costs, knowing the impact it can have on my nervous system. I feel at peace, most of the time, with mortality. My existential anxiety has guided me towards living a meaningful life in which I prioritise the things I care about; toggling between perspective about the bigger picture and being able to appreciate the small, mundane details of my life.

Any yet, the other day I got in a tizz (as my Grandma would have called it) about cherry blossoms. Specifically, running out of time to appreciate them fully. I have a desire to go to the Japanese garden at Tatton Park to admire them. Quickly this thought escalates in my mind: it must be a sunny day. When my husband is also free. And I don’t have too much work on. But probably a weekday so it won’t be too busy. We’ll need to find someone to look after the dog. And I should take a picnic….etc. In seconds I am overwhelmed.

The need to organise it all now puts me into flight mode; faux urgency is the calling card of anxiety. Luckily, I recognise it, and take a breath. Anxiety exists to keep us safe. It arises when there is a perceived threat to us, something or someone important. In this case, the perceived threat is an existential one: I’ll miss the cherry blossoms at Tatton and miss out on this very desirable (to me) life experience, I won’t have made the most of the Spring and that means I’ve wasted my time and not appreciated my life. Blimey! Aren’t brains fun?

But this isn’t my first existential anxiety rodeo, and I know that getting worked up about something that’s supposed to be a pleasant experience is not helpful. I remind myself that it’s unlikely that I’ll die before getting the chance to see the trees at Tatton and that there are cherry trees in my neighbourhood that I can go and look at right now. That this moment matters and I can choose to enjoy it. So, I walk the dog and marvel at the cheerful blooms, the sunset shining through a new beech leaf and a stunning magnolia against a black wall (with matching bin!). And I feel calmer.

I still plan to make it to the Japanese garden this Spring, but I’m not going to ruin the next week or two by pressuring myself about it. Experience has taught me to try softer; to hold what is precious lightly. I will keep hold of my goal, but gently, so I don’t crush the joy with too rigid a grip. I will keep half an eye out for the opportunity and take it gladly if it comes. But if not, there’s next year. And before that, there’s now, which is good enough just as it is.