When Trees Become Our Most Honest Audience
The jackfruit tree in our courtyard has watched me pace during every major crisis of my adult life. It has witnessed arguments with Happy, late-night writing sessions, moments of prayer and despair and the quiet revelations that come at 3 AM. I’ve never considered that it might be conscious of my presence until recently, when I realized how conscious I am of its presence.
Trees are the ultimate audience—silent, non-judgmental, persistently present. They receive our emotional states without trying to fix us, witness our struggles without offering advice, observe our patterns without judgment. In their presence, we can be completely ourselves because they ask nothing of us except coexistence.
There’s something profound about being truly seen without being evaluated. Human witnesses always bring their own agendas, their interpretations, their need to respond. Trees simply hold space, offering the gift of presence without the burden of expectation.
I’ve shared more honest moments with that jackfruit tree than with most humans. It has been present for my questions about faith, my fears about failure, my wonder at Arash’s growth. It has witnessed my attempts at becoming the man I want to be and my failures to live up to my own hopes.
Trees witness us across time in ways humans cannot. They remember us as children and watch us become parents. They observe our patterns across seasons and years. They hold our histories in their silent presence, becoming archives of our becoming.
The intimacy comes from being seen completely—our public and private selves, our moments of strength and weakness, our growth and stagnation. Trees don’t compartmentalize us into the roles we play for different audiences. They see the whole continuous story of our existence.
Perhaps this is why we feel so peaceful in forests, so comfortable talking to ourselves among trees. We’re in the presence of beings who witness without agenda, who see without needing to be seen in return, who offer the rare gift of unconditional presence.
Being witnessed by trees teaches us how to witness ourselves—with patience rather than judgment, acceptance rather than criticism, presence rather than analysis.
