The Lilac Tree
How I Reconnected With My Imagination & My Self.
Picture a lush lilac tree off to the left side of a modest backyard. It was shaped like a lowercase “m” with two openings that you could walk into separately from the left or right. Once inside, you could also easily walk between both sections of this aromatic paradise. It felt like a tree house high up in the sky but my Nana planted it down deep into the earth.
A Magical Childhood Oasis
This lilac tree became my magical childhood oasis starting at age three, when we moved into my Nana’s house after she passed away. I had so many adventures in that glorious little lilac cave:
Dirt salads served up to the neighborhood.
Exploring rocks, ants, and worms while digging holes to nowhere.
Surrounded by the rich colors of deep purple, earthy greens, and natural browns.
Endless hours of conversations with my imaginary friends.
I was outside all day, essentially grounding myself without even knowing the word for it. I was free to express myself, make up stories, and use my imagination. There were no expectations, nothing to do, but simply allow in the joy of my little world that I easily created with no outer influence.
Chasing Success
As I got older, I continued to be outside often but no longer in the lilac tree. My outdoor activities shifted: playing sports, sneaking around with boys, and drinking and smoking butts at the top of Newton Hill.
After college, when I began my career, my focus shifted greatly to becoming successful—or, as I saw it, making a lot of money. I wanted to evolve the family legacy, not in competition, but by taking advantage of the sacrifices my young parents made to give me a great childhood and education.
And I succeeded, beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, including my own. A blue-collar Irish American chick with a thick Worcester accent, went on to run a multi-million dollar New York City business before the age of 30.
My outdoor life now consisted of lavish NYC dinners, swanky Vegas poolside cabanas, and a week each summer in West Yarmouth, Cape Cod, to enjoy the wicked cold ocean and chowda so thick the spoon sticks up if you leave it in the bowl.
The Wasteland of Autopilot
It doesn’t sound so bad ,and yet, during this time my imagination was long gone. Material success solely took the forefront of my mind and I chased financial success with reckless abandon.
I lost myself completely in the process, conforming to a mold to thrive inauthentically. Eventually, the facade wasn’t sustainable. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore, even though I had gotten so good at lying to everyone in my life. I was supposed to be thriving in a successful career but the truth was I was silently self destructing inside.
I was drinking scotch or vodka on the rocks every single day, usually by lunchtime —but it was for a client meeting, so it’s okay. I was in an unhealthy, toxic relationship, and suffering panic attacks from juggling it all on quicksand. It felt literally unimaginable, like a bad movie that would never end.
And that’s just the thing: it was unimaginable because my imagination had been left back in that lilac tree from my childhood.
Since then I was living my life on autopilot, surrendering to the outside world. I had become what others wanted and needed me to be for their gain, not my own. This is what author Sharon Blackie has written in her books as getting lost in the “wasteland”.
The Crossroads
I was now at a crossroads: choose my self or the wasteland.
This moment hit me while I was driving home on the highway very drunk during Hurricane Sandy after a huge fight with my partner. I was certain I was destined for a car accident that night. I never should have been driving.
But I made a deal with myself: if by some miracle I made it home safely, I would fight for myself.
Well since I am writing this, you know I survived that drive home.
The Slow Winding Road Back
I wish what happened next was one big moment, but it was a collection of small, right actions, slowly but consistently taken.
First, I began spending more time outside again, allowing nature to heal me. This meant endless hikes, becoming versed in bird watching, and savoring the music of the woods compared to the concrete jungle.
Next, I got sober. I had tried to stop drinking many times before but it was always for an outer reason — like a New Year’s resolution or an office challenge. This time, I decided to do it simply for myself.
I started a blog and began expressing myself through poems, quotes, and deeply personal thoughts.
I also did the very healing practice of typing all of my handwritten journals I had from the age of 16.
I sobbed as I typed, reading that I had all the answers I needed inside all along, but my self esteem was so destroyed by alcohol addiction and toxic relationships that I couldn’t see my way out. This healing practice of reading my wise words in my handwriting gave me hope: if I got sober long enough to stay connected with my inner wisdom, I could make a lasting change. And I did. I began writing new poems and journal entries filled with ideas and dreams.
I began to imagine a new path, and I slowly began to remember my voice that I had lost in that lilac tree as a little girl.
This introspection, healing, and imagination was not the straight line as I was brought up to expect, but spirals and cycles — in and out. Making progress, taking a step back, to make more progress, to contract and expand again.
A Sign from Nature
In the spring of 2020, after my husband and I moved to a new home, I felt an inner call to pick up gardening again. It was a calm whisper to reconnect to the earth and get my hands dirty. I can hear my intuitive voice so clearly now being many years sober and no longer numb. I was excited to create my magical garden and grow tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, and strawberries.
One day, in late May, while I was watering my growing garden, I noticed a plant peaking out on the other side of the wire fence, directly behind the area I had chosen for my garden.
I gasped with disbelief. It was a lilac tree.
Tears streaming down my face. I smiled, giving a nod hello to my Nana and to the sign from nature that I was back on my true path: using my imagination, playing in the dirt, and living my authentic life.
