Faker

When I was in my 20’s, the medium we hired to rid the front hallway of Victorian era ghosts said she saw me in the future with my hands, joyful, deep in the dirt. I scoffed even though she had indeed cleared our hallway of ghosts. Gardening never seemed like a good idea. It looked like hard work on hot days and a whole lot of fussiness. When I finally did take it up, I did so purely because I wanted a garden in my backyard. I was faking at being a gardener; I was all about planning and expecting, measuring and calculating. My brow was furrowed a lot. And, I was right, it was hard work on hot days and a whole lot of fussiness.

But now, I’m a gardener. A real one. I crave the earth under my toes, my hands, joyful, deep in the dirt. My plants give me a lot of leeway but they help me with this need I have for my offerings to be received, fully, and without judgement. And this other need I have for my offerings to be put to use. They are teaching me that it’s never about achieving or accomplishing - it’s about staying in the garden as long as you can.

IMG-6327.jpg
 

Make Room

 

As if we have to eke out our pleasures. As if they were limited. As if holding back now will make space for a bigger tomorrow. Let me tell you, this is your chance to enjoy. Every moment you enjoy grows the next. That’s the only food for enjoyment. More enjoyment.

 
IMG_6054 (1).jpeg

You Are THAT Important.

This symphony needs your particular instrument. It needs you to show up for practice, be willing to play off-key and know you are more adept than some and less adept than others of your fellow musicians. It needs you to forget the notes and then remember them; it also needs you to forget your sheet music at home and trudge back in the rain to get it and bear the scrutiny of the other players as you arrive late, wet and angry. It needs you to miss a performance entirely because the world got hold of you and know that someone else is in your seat, performing your music, potentially better than you. This symphony needs you to play brilliantly on some opening nights but to also fail miserably on others and let yourself be supported by the players who are having a better night. It needs you to be humble enough to accept the magnitude of your gifts and confident enough to know you are a beginner, always. It needs you to be praised one moment and panned the next, yet never miss one authentic note. It needs you to free yourself from illusions of perfection and accept your limits with kindness and humor. It needs you to perform with the same grace and skill when the conductor seems kind and supportive, as you do when she seems cruel and antagonistic. It needs you to doubt yourself every step of the way, and still pick up your instrument and play. This symphony needs you.

Maple Leaf

IMG_5228.jpg

When his mom called to tell me, her voice cracking and faltering, I could feel the heart in her chest breaking into more pieces then could ever be counted; more pieces than would ever be healed. His precious life, barely started, had an early expiration date that none of us anticipated.

I think about him every day. I think about the kind focus he gave to our conversation when we walked together. I was flattered by his youthful attention; I knew there was always something more alluring on the phone he kept in his pocket.

The leaf he plucked from the grass on our last walk, a maple leaf, as big as his hand, is pressed into my book of sonnets. I told him that day, with my usual wide-eyed sincerity, that I would keep the maple leaf all of my life. He teased me and laughed at my earnest vow. He doubted me. I did keep it, though, and when I open my book now to see the leaf, it’s dry and withered and threatens to break into more pieces than could ever be counted. But I won’t let it.