Perfectly Impermanent
The Ease of Transition
When I arrived in India, my body was at war with itself. And now, in my attempt to leave, countries are at war with one another.
Much like my arrival, we’d planned a deliberate departure from India. Every detail was carefully considered. But now, we must be flexible. Once again.
March 4th. That was our return date. A month later than we had originally intended, yes, but this visit has been unlike any other. It has given us perspective. It has stretched us. In literal and figurative ways.
We have been preparing thoughtfully for our return to Seattle, where I will continue my healing journey. My body is tender. Almost raw. My nerves still feel electric, making themselves known at the most inopportune times. That is why I deliberately chose the word ease for March.
Partly because the journey home would not be simple. We’d transit through Dubai. A 14+ hour-long flight from there across continents and oceans. Fighting against the rotation of the earth. Patience would be required. Surrender necessary.
We were headed home. Home to probable grey drizzle. Or the promising sun of false spring. We’d be home to catch the peak of cherry blossom season in Seattle.
Blossoms bloom suddenly — seemingly appearing overnight. Clouds of fragile pink blossoms shimmer against overcast skies.
For a few short weeks, sidewalks become carpets of fallen petals. Neighbors slow down to take photos. Children play beneath branches heavily laden with blooms.
Then, just as quickly as they appeared — the petals vanish.
The beauty of cherry blossoms is that they are inseparable from their impermanence.
I’d imagined arriving back in time to catch them — to stand beneath them in that brief, fragile window. To feel them fluttering to the ground around me.
I’d planned for a graceful return and an easy transition.
But by midday last Saturday, we knew this would not be the case.
Escalating conflict in the Middle East disrupted airspace. Flights around the world were grounded. Transit routes through Dubai were locked down.
Suddenly, our carefully planned departure dissolved into so many questions.
Should we delay departure again? Re-route? Cancel entirely and rebook?
With dollar signs attached to every decision, even the airspace around me felt unsettled.
Yet, here in Bengaluru, the trees are blooming now too.
They are referred to as the cherry blossoms of Bangalore, though they are actually pink trumpet trees — tabebuia rosea. Their blossoms are vibrant, stretching across entire avenues in sweeping arcs of color.
People pause beneath them the same way they do in Seattle. Phones tilt upward. Heads lift toward the canopy. Selfies are snapped.
Different hemispheres. Different cultures. Different climates. Same appreciation.
Both experience the same seasonal offerings: Beauty. Bloom. Regeneration. Surrender.
So, as I walk beneath these pink trumpet trees still on the other side of the world, uncertain about when or how we will leave, I am struck by something so simple.
Spring does not wait for stability before beauty bursts forth. Trees do not check to make sure the soil they are planted in is perfectly balanced and prepared for their arrival. They bloom in a time of transition. In a place of imperfection. And perhaps that’s why they move us.
They are reminders that impermanence is a thing of beauty. It’s time to appreciate and bear witness to this once-in-a-lifetime moment.
Blossoms in Seattle will fall. Blossoms in Bangalore will fall too.
Hopefully, just as simply, this period of global unease will pass too.
But for now, we wait while global geopolitics sorts out the way back home. And the same questions remain. Rethink? Re-route? Delay?
But these are all just logistics.
The bigger question that arises is: how do I stay open to ease amid all this complexity?
My body is tender, and my spirit feels unsettled within this world that is also unsettled.
I cannot control global tensions. I cannot reopen airspace. I cannot force my body to heal. What I can do is observe.
I can notice the blossoms overhead. Notice the celebration of renewal they invite. Notice that both places nearest to me are overflowing with blossoms at the same time.
Two cities. Two springtimes. One shared impermanence.
As we continue to anticipate our departure from India, I realize that I’m in less control than I’d imagined, but I am far more aware than I expected. And I am being asked to trust once more. To surrender to what is and to stay tender and open to the possibilities.
And perhaps that’s partly what ease is. The acceptance of transition. The willingness to stand beneath beautiful, blossoming trees and remember that this season, too, shall pass.