Finding your own path
2020 was a hot mess.
People lost their jobs, their sense of normalcy, their personal freedom, the ability to move around at will, and in my case, my family; my only brother and mother.
Although death is never easy, we know with certainty it will come to us too, but I also know know after a cold harsh winter comes new growth in the light of spring, followed by the ripe, largess of summer.
Sure, part of that is my faith, but a large part of that is what I see replicated season after season when I’m out foraging.
And that’s why I keep going out. It renews my soul and awakens my senses as I observe plants go from fragile seedlings that surely can’t survive without some sort of protection, to fully grown trees and shrubs that offer protection and sustenance to other living creatures.
And I don’t have to go far. I can walk out of my front door and probably find five plants that are either medicinal or edible within less than a block. Of course most people would consider those weeds and that’s a mistake. It’s easy to ignore the small and innocuous, but when it really blows up, people take notice. That doesn’t change the plant; it’s going to do it’s thing whether you make a big deal about it or not.
Maybe that’s the lesson. You should continue to do what you do, what you enjoy, what makes you special whether anyone notices or not.
Too often we are seduced by the pretty, the loudest, the latest; the thing that everybody wants, and the person that everybody wants to be. But why do that? Chances are the people you’re admiring or wanting to be, have a whole set of issues, foibles, tendencies and anxieties you’ll never see. Maybe that’s because they hide them from social media, maybe it’s because they tell themselves a story vastly different from reality. Either way I don’t care. As I learned in the 11 days between burying my brother and my mother, life moves pretty quickly and whether you’re prepared or not, it’s coming.
So instead I work on myself. Constantly trying to be the best authentic version of me. So this month, as were all beginning to come more fully online, meeting our friends again doing the things we haven’t and almost 18 months, I encourage you to be you.
Daisies could care less about being a rose. They are uniquely themselves. They don’t cry at night because their petals aren’t as fragrant, or because Valentine‘s Day is definitely rose territory. They await being intertwined into chains, made into fairy princess crowns, or presented as the most beautiful hand-picked bouquet ever given. In the meantime they dot the Iandscape, smile at the sun, and just enjoy the journey. Since I never expected to be on this path I’m just delighted to be here, and excited to see where the journey will take me.
I’m not a rose. Heck I may not even be a Daisey, But if I’m a simple clover, I’ll be the most grateful, most authentically clovery clover, on this path.