Blossoms, Brave Beginnings, and the Wisdom of Waiting

Two weeks ago, I stood in the sacred waters of the White Spring in Glastonbury, heart pounding, breath shallow. Naked, no less! The icy water felt impossible before I stepped in, but as I submerged myself, exhilaration took over. And then—peace. It was a moment of surrender, of trust, of letting go.

I had just spent days immersed in my ceremonialist training, surrounded by eighteen incredible women. We laughed, we shared, we celebrated each other. It was a reminder of how vital it is for women to come together—not just for the deep, meaningful moments, but also for the pure joy of connection. There’s something powerful about being witnessed and supported in spaces like that.

Now, back home, the trees are beginning to burst into bloom, as if the land itself is celebrating. The white blossom is appearing on the branches near me, delicate and fleeting. And isn’t it funny how nature always teaches us?

The first blossoms arrive early, giving us that intoxicating first taste of spring. But they also fall just as quickly. In Japan, there’s a philosophy called wabi-sabi, the beauty of impermanence, of things being perfectly imperfect. The cherry blossoms—sakura—are a symbol of this, reminding us that beauty is transient, and that rushing to bloom often leads to a short-lived moment in the sun.

Meanwhile, the plants that take their time, that don’t rush into flowering at the first hint of warmth, are the ones that flourish all summer long.

I think about that a lot. About how we’re always so eager to ‘arrive’ at the next thing, whether it’s the changing season or a change within ourselves. But maybe we don’t need to force our way forward. Maybe it’s okay to take our time, to trust that we will bloom when we’re ready.

And when the moment comes to take the plunge—whether into sacred waters or something new and unknown—we can do it with courage, knowing we’re held, knowing that the timing is just right.