Coming to Life
It's like seeing the world come alive around me every spring.
Why is it that for three months I'm oblivious to the beauty around me, then all the sudden wake up and quite literally "smell the roses"?
Suddenly I'm looking forward to being outside - watching for signs of growth and progression obsessively - even though I know it's been under 24 hours since I last checked.
Suddenly I'm taking Chuy out for a walk in a neighborhood I don't normally venture out to, simply because I want to catch a glimpse of the hard work put in by those homeowners, seeking out the smell of fresh lilacs, hydrangeas, and other mysterious fragrances that manage to suck me into daydreams straight out of The Secret Garden.
Oh, the fulfillment and satisfaction. Nothing compares to planting something and providing it with the tools it needs to grow and thrive. I gave this beautiful living thing the opportunity to thrive. It's gratitude turns into leaves, into flowers, into vegetables. Pulling my meal directly from my backyard; ingesting months of hard work.
Soon, however, the plants are exhausted. Their life has been spent. They shrivel, wilt, and brown, their life's work spent producing for me, now cut short by the frosty fall season.
Suddenly the life, the sunshine I began to take for granted, is gone as quickly as it came. The seasons I seemingly spent lifetimes waiting for is gone.
Out of nowhere I realize my complacency and wonder why I didn't spend that extra hour in the sunshine. Why didn't I take another meal out to the patio? Why didn't I spend another evening with the frogs and the twinkle lights?
So, instead of spending my next winter with thoughts filled with regrets and "should-haves", I'm spending this year outside. I vow to spend an extra hour with the grass between my toes and earth between my fingers. I'm going to welcome that sun-kissed glow. I'm going to quit worrying about tan lines gained from yard work. Cutoff shirts, dirty gloves, and shoes soaked by the hose and saturated with mud will be my uniform. They'll be trophies of my love for giving things life - a much more fruitful pastime than the quest for the perfect tan line (or lack thereof).
My yard will be a place of solace and rejuvenation.
Yes, with the monstrous leaves and sharp scent of my ever-growing hop vines acting as a comforting hand shielding the evening sun. I'll invite others into my delicate space and strive to make it as inviting as possible - for who knows who may need a space of solace most.
When this zealous resolve begins to fade, I'll think of the life I'm pouring into my home. Is my lack of patience any reason to cut the lives short of plants that survive to give me sustenance?
The answer is no.
Enjoy the sunshine. Enjoy whatever makes you happy that isn't man-made.
And please, if nothing else, don't forget to open your eyes and appreciate the world that's right in front of you.
Don't wait until November to wish for the sun.
XO
Why is it that for three months I'm oblivious to the beauty around me, then all the sudden wake up and quite literally "smell the roses"?
Suddenly I'm looking forward to being outside - watching for signs of growth and progression obsessively - even though I know it's been under 24 hours since I last checked.
Suddenly I'm taking Chuy out for a walk in a neighborhood I don't normally venture out to, simply because I want to catch a glimpse of the hard work put in by those homeowners, seeking out the smell of fresh lilacs, hydrangeas, and other mysterious fragrances that manage to suck me into daydreams straight out of The Secret Garden.
Oh, the fulfillment and satisfaction. Nothing compares to planting something and providing it with the tools it needs to grow and thrive. I gave this beautiful living thing the opportunity to thrive. It's gratitude turns into leaves, into flowers, into vegetables. Pulling my meal directly from my backyard; ingesting months of hard work.
Soon, however, the plants are exhausted. Their life has been spent. They shrivel, wilt, and brown, their life's work spent producing for me, now cut short by the frosty fall season.
Suddenly the life, the sunshine I began to take for granted, is gone as quickly as it came. The seasons I seemingly spent lifetimes waiting for is gone.
Out of nowhere I realize my complacency and wonder why I didn't spend that extra hour in the sunshine. Why didn't I take another meal out to the patio? Why didn't I spend another evening with the frogs and the twinkle lights?
So, instead of spending my next winter with thoughts filled with regrets and "should-haves", I'm spending this year outside. I vow to spend an extra hour with the grass between my toes and earth between my fingers. I'm going to welcome that sun-kissed glow. I'm going to quit worrying about tan lines gained from yard work. Cutoff shirts, dirty gloves, and shoes soaked by the hose and saturated with mud will be my uniform. They'll be trophies of my love for giving things life - a much more fruitful pastime than the quest for the perfect tan line (or lack thereof).
My yard will be a place of solace and rejuvenation.
Yes, with the monstrous leaves and sharp scent of my ever-growing hop vines acting as a comforting hand shielding the evening sun. I'll invite others into my delicate space and strive to make it as inviting as possible - for who knows who may need a space of solace most.
When this zealous resolve begins to fade, I'll think of the life I'm pouring into my home. Is my lack of patience any reason to cut the lives short of plants that survive to give me sustenance?
The answer is no.
Enjoy the sunshine. Enjoy whatever makes you happy that isn't man-made.
And please, if nothing else, don't forget to open your eyes and appreciate the world that's right in front of you.
Don't wait until November to wish for the sun.
XO
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