Day 87 of 100: What Trees and Grass Taught Me About Growth & the People I Love
Trees don’t hang out with the grass even though they both started in the same place.
Hey Fam,
Thanks for stopping by.
I was cleaning out my office yesterday when I found a stack of old notebooks buried under some papers.
You know how it is…
You have those random notebooks where you scribbled thoughts, meeting notes, and half-formed ideas that seemed important at the time.
As I flipped through one from a few years back, a single line jumped out.
Written in my own handwriting, underlined twice:
“Trees don’t hang out with the grass even though they both started in the same place.”
I stared at it for a moment, trying to remember when I wrote it or why it felt urgent enough to write down.
The context was gone.
I had no clue where I heard it or what conversation sparked it.
But sitting there in my office, surrounded by evidence of how much my life has changed since my time writing in that notebook…
The quote hit different.
Like a message I left for myself without knowing I’d need it.
Let me explain…
Growing Pains
There’s something uncomfortable with admitting that the people who knew you “when” might not recognize you “now.”
It’s rarely from becoming fake or forgetting where you came from.
More often, you’ve stretched in directions they haven’t… yet.
I think of friendships from my childhood or college where we used to dream about the same things, complain about the same problems, and find comfort in our shared uncertainty.
Those conversations that used to feel so deep now sometimes feel… Limited.
It’s not that they lack depth or that I think I’m smarter.
My questions have changed.
My curiosities have evolved.
The things that keep me up at night aren’t the same things that used to bond us.
And that creates a gap that feels uncomfortable to name.
You start recognizing the conversations that used to sustain you now leave you feeling…
Empty.
It’s not their fault. It’s not yours either.
It’s growth doing what growth does…
Creating space between who you were and who you’re becoming.
The Challenge of Outgrowing the Grass
Here’s what nobody tells you about personal growth…
Sometimes it isolates you from the people who cheered you on at the beginning.
Your family celebrates your success, yet can’t relate to the pressure that comes with it.
Old friends love your ambition while feeling left behind by the pace of your evolution.
Colleagues respect your growth while missing the version of you that used to struggle next to them.
Nobody did anything wrong.
Growth… reorganizes things.
Different Levels, Same Soil
I’ve come to realize that the tree and the grass both need the same earth to survive.
They both require water, nutrients, and good conditions.
But they reach toward different sources of light.
The grass spreads wide, connecting with everything around it at ground level.
The tree grows tall, extending branches that touch spaces that the grass will never see.
Neither is wrong.
They’re built for different purposes.
Maybe that’s what happens with people, too.
Some of us are meant to spread wide…
Others are called to reach higher… exploring spaces that feel lonely at first yet open up new possibilities for everyone who comes after.
Love Doesn’t Require Proximity
I’ve found that the hardest part isn’t the growing.
It’s learning how to love people from a different elevation without making them feel abandoned.
How do you honor where you came from while embracing where you’re going?
How do you stay rooted in your values while branches of your life stretch into spaces your starting point can’t access?
I’ve been grappling with this balance for years.
Trying to figure out how to be grateful for the foundation while acknowledging that the structure I’m building might look different than what others expected.
Sometimes I catch myself dimming my curiosity so conversations feel familiar.
Other times I find myself explaining my choices in ways that sound more like apologies than announcements.
The guilt of outgrowing your starting point is real.
Especially when the people you love most can’t see where you’re headed…
Or why you need to go there.
What I’m Learning About Loyalty
Real loyalty isn’t staying the same to make others comfortable.
It’s growing in ways that honor the best of what you learned together while having the courage to explore what you discovered on your own.
Trees don’t reject the grass.
They can’t limit their growth to ground level anymore.
That doesn’t make the grass less valuable.
It makes the world more complete.
A Different View Requires A Different You
From where the grass grows, the tree might look distant.
Unreachable.
Maybe even arrogant for reaching so high.
But from where the tree stands, the view includes more than just its own growth.
It sees the whole landscape.
The grass, flowers, other trees, and the horizon beyond.
The height isn’t about superiority.
It’s perspective.
And maybe… that elevated view creates opportunities to shade, shelter, and nourish everything below in ways that wouldn’t be possible from ground level.
Where This Leaves Us
I’m learning to be at peace with the tree I’m becoming while staying grateful for the grass-level community that poured into my roots.
Some relationships will stretch with my growth.
Others will remain beautiful at the level where we first connected.
Both can be honored.
Both can be loved.
And maybe that’s where you are too.
Where distance keeps growing between you and the people who used to understand you completely.
Where questions surface about whether your evolution is worth the isolation it sometimes creates.
Somewhere in your mind, you wonder if there’s a way to keep growing without leaving anyone behind.
Staring at that quote in my old notebook, I realized why the past me felt compelled to write it down.
It wasn’t about justifying distance or celebrating separation.
It was preparing myself for the reality that growth changes things…
Including the altitude from which you love the people who helped you get started.
The tree doesn’t hang out with the grass…
Because it’s been called to explore what’s possible when you dare to reach toward light that others can’t see yet.
I don’t believe it’s about leaving anyone behind.
It’s more so discovering what’s possible when you honor the full scope of who you’re meant to become.
So ask yourself…
What growth have you been avoiding to keep others comfortable?
What height are you called to reach?
What would it look like to love the grass-level foundation while embracing the tree-level perspective you’re growing into?
Your roots don’t disappear when you grow tall.
They just run deeper.
And maybe that’s the real gift of elevation…
The capacity to love more deeply, see more clearly, and protect more than you ever could from ground level.
Growth doesn’t mean abandonment.
It means expansion.
And the world needs both your roots and your reach.
Thanks for listening. I appreciate you.
Talk to you tomorrow.
Much Love,
Dr. Jae
