Oubaitori & the Creative Journey: A Reminder to Grow in Your Own Time
Growth comes in waves, one season you are riding high on a wave in total exhilaration, and then the next you are in the tumble, white water wash, just trying to find which way is up or down, pulled in every direction.
If I’m being honest, the hardest part of my photography journey hasn’t been learning shutter speeds or mastering the technical side of my camera. The most challenging part has been internal. Quiet, persistent questions that rise up from a deeper place: Am I doing enough? Shouldn’t I be further along by now? Why does it look so much easier for others?
It’s that aching stretch between where you are and where you want to be, and the sinking feeling that what you're doing, all the hard work, might not be enough to get you there. That all the hypothetical blood, sweat, and tears won’t pay off, or that what you dream of isn’t for you. That’s a sad, hopeless place to be because on the one hand, you have all your goals in dreams shining brightly, and then on the other, persistent doubt that whispers maybe none of it is meant for you or that you’re too late. I think it’s something creatives don’t often open up about.
But one morning recently, I came across a concept that took me aback while I was scrolling, of all things. A single word in Japanese: Oubaitori.
Oubaitori refers to the cherry, plum, peach, and apricot trees that bloom in Japan each spring, each in their own time, each in their own way. None of them rush, none of them bloom at the same moment, at the same exact pace. And none are considered better or more beautiful than the others. The sparse cherry tree doesn’t look at the apricot in full bloom and ask, Why not me yet? It simply follows its own rhythm.
The word has come to symbolize a gentle truth: that each person has their own path, their own pace, and their own season of becoming. Oubaitori reminds us not to compare, not to measure ourselves against someone else’s chapter, timeline, or where we think we should be. Instead, it reminds us to celebrate the richness of our uniqueness and our unique pace.
Even now, at the beginning of summer, I think it’s a concept worth honoring because the gardens are bursting with growth and life. Back home in Vermont, my aunt has an orchard that’s over a hundred years old, planted in the early American days. We’d wander between the rows of trees, noticing which ones were blooming, which ones bore fruit. Some years, one tree would be heavy with apples; the next year, it might hold nothing at all. We had some ideas on possibly why, but we never could be too sure, and sometimes there were no clues at all. Another tree may be sparse the year before, and the next year fluttering full of blush blossoms. There could be countless reasons why, maybe it was the soil or the amount of rain, but it was just the rhythm of things. Some bloomed later, some bloomed slower. And so it is with us.
The creative journey isn’t linear, and we can’t always make sense of our path, especially when we live in our heads. Some seasons are bursting with clarity and creation; others are slow, still, or inward. Each season plays its role, even if they are quiet or still, when nothing seems to be blooming.
Oubaitori is a soft invitation back to trust; to trust in the timing of your own life and creativity. It reminds us that we don’t have to rush or force anything into blossom. That where we are, right now, is more than enough. That even if we have goals and dreams, to be there, wherever that is, or be that version of us, right now, in our current messy state, is still more than enough and worthy. That who we are, as we are, holds beauty and worth, even in the waiting.
We are part of nature, after all, and the more we separate ourselves from it, the more disconnected we feel from ourselves. The grace of nature lies in its quiet wisdom; it offers us exactly what we need, when we need it, if we’re willing to slow down, look closely, and be present. Its comfort comes in gentle, almost imperceptible ways, like the four blossoming trees, revealing what our hearts need to hear. When we come back to these natural rhythms, these quiet reminders written into the trees, the soil, the light, we begin to remember.
If this resonates with you in the chapter of life you’re in, you’re in good company. Honestly, it’s a bit therapeutic to write about it because the words are something I need to hear, too. If you find yourself in one chapter waiting for the next page to finally turn, or on a stone waiting for a bridge to appear to the next, you are not alone. Let this concept of Oubaitori give you some reassurance that you are simply unfolding in your own rythm, you are right where you are meant to be, and it’s all divinely and perfect orchestrated for your highest good, even if you feel like your tree is a bit sparse or not as vibrant as the next. In time, seasons will change. All we can do is surrender and accept that our tree will bloom in its own perfect time.
