The Tree That Didn’t Bloom: How a late bloomer revealed what I didn’t want to see

We have a large Rose of Sharon on our front lawn. Years ago, I inherited it from a neighbour who had posted it as free on a community site. I took my daughter’s wagon over and dragged it home.

It flourished. Bright green leaves in the spring. And unlike other trees and shrubs on the street, it saved its flowers for late summer—abundant, delicate blooms that always felt like a surprise. It offered shade, a little privacy, and a quiet sense of pride: I’d given this tree a new home, and it had thrived.

Then last week, on a call with my mom, she said:
“I was so sorry to see your Rose of Sharon was dead when we stopped by the other day.”

Dead? No, I told her with confidence. It’s a late bloomer.

Until she pointed out what should have been obvious: not only had it not bloomed—there were no leaves. No sign of life.

It was only then that I really saw it. Branches dry and brittle. The colour of the trunk faded. I had been so focused on the story I knew—that this shrub always bloomed late—that I had completely missed the reality in front of me. I even trimmed off a few branches to allow what my mind couldn’t yet accept. No life.

Someone from the outside had to help me notice what was already there.

That moment felt surprisingly familiar.

We move through life carrying routines, roles, and stories that once served us. We assume they’re still alive and working for us simply because they always have. But without pausing to really look, it’s easy to miss the signs that something has quietly stopped growing.

Daniel Kahneman calls this the focusing illusion: we place disproportionate importance on whatever holds our attention. We focus so hard on what we expect to see that we overlook what’s changed.

It’s not always easy to notice those moments on our own. Sometimes it takes someone standing beside us, someone who isn’t tangled in the history of things, to say quietly:
“I think this might not be what you believe it is anymore.”

There’s a line often attributed to Rumi:
"Be like a tree and let the dead leaves drop."

There’s relief in that. Things change. Not everything is meant to last. And sometimes, all it takes is a pause long enough to really look—to clear the space for whatever’s ready to grow next.