Cultivating Gratitude for Sensitivity

bright yellow autumn leaves against vibrant blue sky

Isn't the texture of autumn remarkable? Maybe it's hard to notice in Los Angeles; tonight's dinner was soup in the backyard - a mishmash of golden light slowly fading on broad green leaves, cooling crisp air, soup warming me from the inside, my daughter's cheek against my arm warming me from the outside. The orb-weaver spiders are busy hanging their masterpieces high in the trees and sometimes across a sidewalk. And if we look closely, but not too expectantly (because sometimes it misses us entirely), the leaves may start to change soon. 

Those canopies aflame with red, orange, and yellow easily inspire awe and wonder. But have you really thought about this "behavior" we admire in a tree? It senses a transition in its surroundings and reacts dramatically - changing the color of all its leaves, then throwing them to the ground. Does this sound familiar to you? Why is it so easy to admire the sensitivity of a tree but not the sensitivity of our own children? Maybe because the tree has adapted to its setting and also the tree isn't screaming at you. 

I wonder if this season, when you see a colorful tree, will you take a moment to appreciate your sensitive kiddo? Sure, maybe they're (over)reacting today, but you're still working with them as they hone their sensitivity into attunement with their surroundings. The sensitivity is a gift, and the autumn tree is a reminder of your child's capacity and future potential to thrive, succeed, inspire.