Like the Marula Tree
I used to think personal growth looked kind of like physical growth: linear-ish. Like how we go from children to lanky teens to adults with lower back pain and a dedicated foam roller habit.
Visible. Predictable. Steady.
But that’s not how life works.
Enter: the marula tree.
The marula tree doesn’t bloom year-round. It doesn’t chase KPIs or hit refresh on its inbox. It follows the rains. It rests. It stretches. It fruits. It blooms when it’s ready — not when it’s told to.
What if we lived more like that?
I coached a fellow who had every success metric ticked off: a great job, a partner who ticked their boxes, two fun-loving little girls, and one killer espresso machine. And yet something was off. His words were articulate. His posture was upright. But his eyes? Glazed.
There was no twinkle, and there hadn’t been in some time.
“Everything’s OK-ish,” he chimed.
Long pause.
“…But I feel like I’m sleepwalking through my own life. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
Most coaching conversations tend to arrive at some version of:
“Am I on the right path?”
Which is often code for:
“Why does this life I built not feel like mine?”
And beneath this is often something even quieter:
”What would happen if I stopped trying to be “on” all the time — and started listening instead?”
But listening’s hard when we’re surrounded by noise — inboxes, deadlines, expectations, algorithms, dudes named Brad on LinkedIn giving TED talks in their cars.
We’ve been trained to outsource our navigation:
To our parents.
To our bosses.
To our partners.
To the internet.
But here’s the thing:
The version of success they want for you? It’s theirs. From their shoes. And last I checked — you’re not wearing their Crocs. (And even if you like Crocs... theirs are too tight.)
Many folks do all the things: climb the ladders, update the bio, buy the almond milk —and yet somewhere along the way, they lose the signal.
The inner compass is still there, but it gets quieter every time we override it with “should.”
Doing the ‘work’ isn’t about forcing the blossom—it’s bout becoming the tracker of your own internal weather. No performance. No posturing. No virtual signaling. No ‘growth for its own sake.’
Just noticing when it’s time to let things flow and emerge into the next.
Some seasons are about clarity.
Some are for chaos.
Some are compost.
Yes, compost. That weird, mushy, messy middle where nothing makes sense and everything smells like a transition.
But that doesn’t mean you’re lost. It might just mean you’re marula-ing.
“People are not looking for the meaning of life; they are looking for the feeling of being alive,” wrote Joseph Campbell.
That’s what coaching is, at its best. Not giving advice. Not directing someone on what to do. But helping people remember how to listen. Supporting them in learning how to track:
Track what feels warm.
Track what gives you energy.
Track what brings ease.
Track what’s been whispering to you for years.
“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step,” Campbell continues, “you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take.”
When you start to listen — really listen — something shifts. Not all at once. But enough. Enough to say: “I know what matters now.” “I know what I need.”
You don’t need a perfect plan.
You need presence.
You don’t need a guru.
You need sleep. And courage.
You don’t need an algorithm.
You need to tap into your wild animal self.
You don’t need to think your way back home.
You need to feel your way.
Because…
You are not a productivity app.
You are not your AI avatar.
You are not a persona or a punchline.
You are the marula tree.
And you’ll bloom whenever the hell you please :)