Wabi sabi - the Japanese gift of serene melancholy

I've been reflecting for the last few weeks on the Japanese concept of wabi sabi which describes the serene melancholy of impermanence. It is generally captured by the phrase, “nothing lasts, nothing’s finished, nothing’s perfect”. As the nights draw in, Autumn is surely the perfect time to finally blog about this, with its inevitable flourish of change for those of us who like to spend our time around trees.

I was travelling back from a flurry of European forestry events last week, when a chance glimpse from my slightly steamy bus window got me thinking about the emotional journey we go on when we throw everything we have at a project or goal we are passionate about. What happens when we stop?

Eleven years ago today I became a Forestry Commissioner and ultimately CEO of Scottish Forestry. I was a bit awe-struck and excited to be taking up such a senior position with all opportunity and status that came with it, including a lovely corner office. Yesterday, while travelling back home from the airport I spotted some unusual activity in my former prestigious office, now part of a building that has sat un-used since the pandemic. After 5 minutes searching online I discovered that it’s now a low-cost artist’s studio: the whole building is more or less empty, with some space rented out cheaply to community art groups.  As the bus hurtled past through the falling autumn leaves, I smiled to myself, experiencing a wave of serene melancholy.

Impermanence, imperfection and the ubiquity of change can be difficult to embrace, accept or even remember when we are frantically striving

Five years ago I walked away from that CEO role and that office, comfortable that the transformation we had undertaken had got us to a good place. Job done. It wasn’t finished, it wasn’t perfect, but I did hope it would last. Four years on and some of the changes I’d had sleepless nights about have settled in and borne fruit, some have fallen by the wayside, and some have been overtaken by other changes.

Impermanence, imperfection and the ubiquity of change can be difficult to embrace, accept or even remember when we are frantically striving. Dwell on it too much and there’s a risk that melancholy takes over and nihilism seeps in, sapping motivation. But there’s also a comfort, a serenity, and an antidote to hubris in recognising that, like death and taxes, change is inevitable. Our striving can impact or cause change, but changes will continue after our efforts stop, regardless of whether or not we thought we got the job done.

Some change is cyclical and predictable, but can still startle and inspire us like the shock of autumn colour or the bright green of spring. Some change is slow and incremental like the growing and senescence of trees and is most visible in retrospect. Some change is transformative, some is chaotic, and often several changes are happening concurrently. There’s a joy and a freedom in accepting this even as we work towards our goals.

Some change is cyclical and predictable, but can still startle and inspire us like the shock of autumn colour

I wish I could go back and introduce my younger self to the concept of wabi-sabi. I wouldn’t have worked less hard, but I might have slept better. I now work as a coach with individuals and teams impacted by change or trying to make change happen. Helping people to navigate that with energy, a smile and serenity is at the core of my purpose.

Nothing lasts, nothing’s finished, nothing’s perfect – and that’s ok.