Bloom: The Transformative Power
I have a feeling my fascination with the cherry blossom tree started when I was very small. I’ve loved Chinese food from a young age and was always pestering my parents to take me to a restaurant for every celebration. Maybe that’s when I first noticed pretty pink blossoms on thin, spindly branches in illustrations on walls or menus? There was something about those wiry branches that captured my imagination - scary, a little wild, and yet, at the end of each one, a blossom appears: soft, delicate, beautiful - long before I knew anything about their history or cultural significance.
Every time I see a tree in full bloom, whether walking past it or spotting it from the car, it still makes me feel a little giddy. But then the swooning wanes and I remember how the blossoms only last a few weeks, which somehow makes them even more precious to me. So precious, in fact, that I finally had some cherry blossoms tattooed on my right foot nearly 20 years ago.
My Forever
My Cherry Blossoms
It turns out I wasn’t the only one bewitched by these delicate blooms! Originating in the Himalayas, these trees made their way to China and Japan. It was the Japanese that fully embraced Sakura (the Japanese translation for the flowers) and have celebrated it for over a thousand years. From 794 to 1185, the imperial court of the day used to come together for Hanami - which were flower-viewing parties, eating and getting tipsy on sake - I rather like that! The blossoms came to symbolise that gentle “enjoy it now because it won’t last” feeling. It’s that mix of gratitude and a tiny tug of sadness all at once, knowing you’re witnessing something beautiful and fleeting.
By the early 1600s, everyone was doing hanami (not just the elite and the festivals are still going on when the veil of blossoms appear. Sakura Matsuri festivals across Japan represent not just how quickly beautiful things fade but renewal too - hope, fresh starts and the simple joy of noticing the little things right in front of you.
I think that’s why cherry blossoms resonate so much. The tree doesn’t rush. It stands there all winter in its birthday suit, all twigs and scary branches, quietly doing what it needs to do beneath the surface. And then almost out of nowhere, it blooms (and our Steve blooms very quickly!). We’re not so different. We can’t expect to feel bright, energised and glowing if we’re constantly running on empty. A massage, a facial, a walk, a decent night’s sleep - they’re not indulgences, they’re the roots. They’re the quiet groundwork that lets us show up properly in our own lives. The blooming is just the visible part.
Our Steve Cherry since 2020…
And every year, when our own cherry tree, Steve, begins to bud, I feel that same little lift. He’s six now, over two metres tall, and covered in the tiniest green buds. For a few short weeks, he’s blooming marvellous (sorry, I had to) and looks like he’s a stick of candy floss. And then, just like that, the petals will drift away (or get blown off by the pesky English weather). It really does make me sad how quickly it’s all over… but maybe that’s the point. The blooming isn’t meant to last forever - it’s meant to be noticed.
And perhaps that’s what care really is too. Not grand gestures or dramatic transformations; just quiet, regular tending. So when the blossom appears - in the garden or in ourselves - we’re ready to enjoy it while it’s here.
And with that, we gently close the YLC Care Trilogy - January’s quiet power of touch, February’s reflections on love and now March’s reminder to bloom. If you fancy the full set, the first two are still there for a quiet read. Different stories but all rooted in the same idea: that small, thoughtful acts of care have a way of changing us from the inside out.
