It should come as no surprise that I have revelled in growing things, with quite the vengeance since the start of the year. A pre-existing interest peaked and kind of ballooned into not just an obsession but a necessity and a source of solace and grounding during the last five months.
It’s been kind of poetic growing all kinds of different plants. The process of tending to them and watching them respond, understanding what works for one plant and doesn’t for another and tweaking things a little here and there as I go has been fun, but also enriching.
Sure it’s given me something satisfying to dig my hands into during this dreary time, but it has also been enriching. Making room for error, watching natural lifecycles and destruction, and learning as much about the plants as myself somehow, along the way.
Something about allowing for age and change to unfurl in just its own time, noticing the delicacy in how life blooms forth as gracefully but with determination, and slowly, unabashedly as it fades out has moved me several times over.
I am touched every day by something or the other that I see in my little balcony garden(s) that have grown significantly thanks to Covid. (Oh the irony.)
What I see in my plants, many times I also see in myself. And observing life in this way has helped me make space for imperfection, taking time, and enjoying moments of bounty when they come. Knowing full well that no magic worth its salt will last forever. Is meant to be fleeting, yet devoured when it presents itself.
My garden has taught me that growth involves putting in the work and just patiently waiting and watching for the most part, having little to no idea how it is going to flourish and show up.
In my plants I’ve noticed beauty in erratic edges and non-uniform results. It has shown me how much growth is about making space for opportunities and outcomes of change and stretch in whatever way they may emerge.
Growth work is a dance between understanding and acting with intention, upon what is, and surrendering to what absolutely isn’t in your control. No two seasons are the same, predictability is for machines and growth takes its own sweet time.
And then there is the role of death. Without the act of dismantling, crumbling, decaying, pruning, peeling, culling away and letting go, without the presence of the old leaving, growth is not encouraged to continue. That is the cycle. The energy of this turning gyre. The way in life life itself endures.