The wind, the oak, and the willow tree
Strength isn’t about power, it’s about flexibility
When I was in my early twenties, I spent a few years studying karate. Before I stopped training (a decision I regret to this day), I learned several important lessons that have guided me ever since.
One lesson in particular has shaped so much about who I am and how I interact with the world.
The leader of the school, the sensai, was like my own Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid. He was gentle, kind, patient, and a complete bad ass. Sure, he could have flattened any one of us with a single finger, but that wasn’t the key to his bad assery. His toughness didn’t come from his fist, it came from his heart. He seemed to know exactly who he was, and what he had to offer the world. And because of that, he had no need to prove himself or defend his ideas and feelings. He possessed something I still envy and emulate to this day; he was supremely flexible. If someone disagreed with him, he bent. If something unexpected happened, he bent. And, yes, if someone physically attacked him, he bent. And I think he knew exactly how far he could bend without breaking. Because of his flexibility, adversaries became allies and setbacks became opportunities. He taught his students the futility of meeting force with force, whether it was directed at our bodies or our egos.
The motto of the karate school aptly captured his lesson: “A strong wind may topple the sturdy oak, but the willow bends and lets the wind pass through.” Life sends plenty of wind our way; a belligerent person, unexpected hardships, and difficult changes. In the face of that foul weather, our society seems to glorify those who “stand up” to the winds or “hold their ground” or “don’t let them get away with that.” We seem to reward the oak trees among us. The thing is, over time, these oak trees get brittle, and when their brute force begins to wane or proves ineffective, their egos suffer. When the wind gets strong enough, even the “tough” oaks will break if they’re too rigid to bend.
On the other hand, the willow trees among us are supple and sway when hardships appear. Being a willow doesn’t mean you have no boundaries or that you can’t advocate for your needs and wants. And it certainly doesn’t mean you have to tolerate cruel, angry people or suffering that could be avoided. A willow tree isn’t a doormat, but there’s a quiet strength and a calm courage about the willows. The harder the wind blows and the more they bend, the stronger they seem to bounce back.
It’s sad that our society often labels these willows in unflattering terms. If you’re a man and you’re a willow tree, you’re “weak” or “wimpy.” If you’re a woman, you’re “meek” or “a pushover.”
Calling my former karate teacher “wimpy” would have been a mistake. Not because he would have hurt me or felt a need to defend his honor, but because it would have been simply and profoundly wrong. He was unquestionably gentle andstrong, kind andassertive. He was a willow tree.
We can all learn from the willow, even if we’ve been taught to be an oak.
Next time a conversation gets heated, if the outcome won’t violate your basic beliefs, endanger somebody, break a law, or jeopardize your future (in other words, if the argument is like most of the petty arguments we all have), ask yourself if you would rather be “right” or be happy. Do you really need to stand like an oak and risk toppling yourself or your relationship, or can you be a willow that flexes to avoid breaking? Next time your plans get foiled or life circumstances change, ask yourself if you need to spend energy resisting it, or can you bend, trusting that you can handle whatever comes?
Next time a strong wind blows, ask yourself what kind of tree you want to be.
About the author
Dave Wyner is a Licensed Professional Counselor, National Certified Counselor, Certified Clinical Trauma Professional, and Certified Grief Counseling Specialist with a practice in Louisville, Colorado called A Path Forward Counseling. He’s passionate about helping people rebuild their lives and thrive again after painful losses or traumatic experiences. His abiding desire is to help people affected by trauma and grief tap into their own strength, courage, and resilience in order to find meaning and purpose in their lives. In addition to traditional office-based counseling, he also offers equine-assisted psychotherapy with a herd of six horses at a small, private ranch. In his spare time, Dave enjoys hiking the beautiful Front Range with his wife and dog, nature photography, and catering to the two cats who graciously allow him to live in their house.