Which Leaves Are You Still Carrying?

A Lesson from Tulip Trees

One fall morning in Maryland, I was standing by the window in my residence, watching leaves detach from tulip trees.

They didn’t fall dramatically. They let go quietly.

A gentle wind carried them away, one by one, until branches that had been full only weeks earlier stood bare.

I found myself asking a simple question: why? And why now?

The tulip trees don’t shed their leaves because they are dying. They shed them for the opposite reason, survival, because something difficult is coming.

Winter brings conditions leaves cannot survive:

• cold that freezes their function

• winds that tear them apart

• scarcity, that maintaining them becomes costly

Leaves are the most exposed, most vulnerable part of the tree. When the environment turns hostile, keeping them is no longer a strength; it’s a risk.

So the tree does something remarkably strategic.

It lets go of what cannot function in the coming conditions so that it can conserve energy, protect its core, and survive the challenge that lies ahead.

This is not a loss. It is preparation!

What struck me was not the biology. It was the contrast with how we, as humans, respond to difficulty.

Human consciousness is far more advanced than that of a tree. We can imagine the future, analyse patterns, test assumptions, and anticipate consequences.

And yet, when pressure builds, we often do the opposite of what the tulip tree does.

We hope instead of preparing.
We assume continuity instead of disruption.
We optimise for the present while ignoring what is gathering ahead.

Many capable professionals and entrepreneurs are not struggling because they lack intelligence or effort. They are struggling because they are unprepared for the kind of challenge they are actually facing.

Not because it was unknowable, but because it was unchallenged.

Trees don’t wait until the first storm to decide to keep or shed the leaves.

They don’t argue with reality. They don’t confuse optimism with readiness. They don’t cling to what worked in a different season.

They respond to signals early, quietly, and decisively. They let go off their leaves which was a source of food and fresh air, necessary to survive.

Humans, by contrast, often wait for disruption to force clarity.

We assume the environment will remain friendly.
We plan for the best while leaving the worst unexamined.
We treat preparation as pessimism rather than responsibility.

And when conditions change suddenly – job loss, economic pressure, organisational shifts, personal strain, etc. – we call it “unexpected”.

Often, it wasn’t. There had been a number of important assumptions to test and several signals to interpret.

The question, then, is not whether difficulty is coming. Because change always is. As they say, ‘change is the only constant’.

The deeper question is:

• Do we know what cannot function in the conditions ahead?

• Do we know what is draining energy rather than protecting our core?

• Do we distinguish between what is productive now and what will not be later?

Trees don’t have foresight. They have responsiveness. Humans have foresight but often fail to use it.

Not because we are incapable, but because we confuse wishing for preparing and effort for strategy.

If this feels uncomfortably familiar, it may be worth asking which “leaves” you are still carrying into a season they cannot survive.