Life lessons from an olive tree (why I keep finding inspiration in such a grumpy-looking tree)

I’m not exactly sure when it started, but I suspect I’ve developed a soft spot for olive trees. And not the kind of soft spot you have for puppies or freshly baked focaccia. No — this is a different kind of admiration. One that comes with a touch of irritation and a whole lot of respect.

Because let’s be honest: an olive tree doesn’t do a thing to win you over. It’s gnarled, greyish, stubborn — and always seems a bit reserved. But still, there it stands. Year in, year out. You could almost say it’s mastered the art of doing nothing — better than anyone else, really.

And if you look closely, there’s something to be learned there. A life lesson from an olive tree, if you will. Though I admit — it sounds slightly ridiculous the moment you say it out loud.

Survival is a style too

What fascinates me is this: an olive tree doesn’t need to be beautiful. It doesn’t even try to be. It grows slowly, only bears anything edible after years, and never seems in a rush. And yet, it’s always there.

It thrives where other trees give up. On dry hillsides, between stones, through wind and weather. Without complaint. Without demands. As if it’s saying, “I’m here. Do with that what you will.”

Sometimes I think: that’s the essence of adulthood. Simply staying upright. Not in the way. Not making a scene. Just holding your ground.

Not a tree for impatient people

When I planted a small olive tree in a pot years ago, I thought: this is going to be great. My own harvest soon, a wreath on the wall, maybe even some oil. Three years later, I was still looking at the same stubborn little frame. It had grown a bit — but more in character than in height. And me? I’d already bought three different chairs.

It suddenly became clear: an olive tree doesn’t do haste. If you’re looking for a lesson in patience, don’t sign up for a mindfulness course — just look at a tree that has long since forgotten about you.

Olive tree life lesson #1: you don’t need to grow fast to be doing just fine.

Stubbornness as a survival strategy

Olive trees do things on their own terms. They take in water when they feel like it. They root deep, but never quite where you think they should. And still, they keep giving: shade, structure, rhythm. Even if you give nothing in return. They’re like old aunts who outlive everything — and still keep pouring the wine.

I find myself looking at that tree in my garden more and more. Not to see if it’s finally getting any taller, but to remind myself: perseverance can be stubborn. And steadfastness is a kind of grace too.