Personally I think it would be nice if the manager I reported to was a tree. In some senses, I am already managed by the trees in my yard, especially this time of year when we have to manually water them, because it is so blazing hot that everything of every size and shape is suffering, begging the sky for rain. (It was cloudy all day yesterday and then simply didn’t rain at all, and I am torn between cloud gratitude and precipitation rage, and this is a knot of emotion I don’t expect to untangle for quite some time.)
There are also our fruit trees, which are in various states of extremis: the peach tree, which died, and which we need to replace; the loquat tree, which seems to experience a different form of suffering or disease on a weekly basis, none of which respond to any treatment; the pomegranate tree, which has always been our star in terms of health and growth and productivity, which is technically still fine but only has one fruit this year, which is…weird. All of these trees grew bountifully in the spring of 2022 and produced lovely fruit, and as if in recognition that they did more, in that year, than anyone or anything to provide happiness, all have been struggling since.
To be fair, I did also accidentally greywater a laundry load onto them which contained a small amount of bleach (I WAS REALLY SORRY OK), but it was so negligible an amount that none of them seemed worse for it, after I diluted it with a ton of hose water. So yes, I blame emotional collapse.
It is going to be a chaotic summer, but hopefully the chaos will be a form of joy and transformation and glory, or anyway will carry us through until the rains come and the weather turns. There is something to be said for distraction. Bury your acorns in the empty places, friends, and wait for the new trees to grow.