On Monday, I shared a thought with folks on LinkedIn that had me musing a bit about how we look at life and help or hinder our forward movement.
The thought was this:
Every flower that blooms has to go through a whole lot of dirt.
Some of this is happening because of the media. Our news media loves salacious stories. One assumes it's because we love them, but do we? Are we, especially my female friends, not tired of it all?
I know accept the recognition that human beings are inherently interested in the lives of other humans beings, often to the point of harm to themselves. We have all become peeping Toms, of a sort. We follow certain celebrities on TV to see what they're wearing, how they walk, what parties they attend, who they don't like and who they do. We want to know when new babies are born to them. We want to know what they name their dog.
The People We Aspire To Be
Too many of us emulate them. Because, given their celebrity status, they are the people we aspire to be.
Most of us, we average folks who go about our daily lives on the three meals a day plan, or who are experimenting with intermittent fasting, don't aspire to be the kind of celebrities owned by mainstream media.
And therein comes the quote about flowers.
Each of us blooms in a garden of life created by our environment, but nurtured by ourselves and those around us.
The garden has to have dirt. You do not grow things without dirt. (for the most part, please don't cite scientific studies showing plants growing in water or other kinds of stuff...not relevant at this time)
As a little girl in our old neighborhood used to say, "God made dirt. Dirt don't hurt."
Granted, she shared this philosophical tome as she was eating dirt, but she was only about four, and likely to grow out of that soon, so one let it go.
Yet, I have never forgotten it. It often serves to remind me that as human beings, we forget that the Universe is larger than we can imagine and our understanding of it can never match the reality. Things we worry about hurting us, might ultimately nurture us.
Dirt, so I accept, is a product of the Universe, or God, it you like. It exists to grow things. Your dirt, in your backyard, may be chemically different than my dirt (or soil as some folks call dirt), depending on where you live.
It's generally black or grey, but in some places it's red. Regardless, we humans do what we can to garden in it. If Mother Nature hasn't provided plant life, we get outside on our knees and provide it for ourselves.
We plant seeds and we water them and we weed them and we talk to them and they grow.
They grow through the dirt the way a sunbeam shines through a cloud.
Those Who Hardy Along
Those plants, lets look at flowers, that become hardy, are beautiful to behold. They reach for the clouds and wave in gentle breezes, as they welcome bees and other insects to their fragrant petals.
They do not think about the soil they grew in. They do not pause to wonder why they were blessed with such good soil and weather. They blossom and raise their heads boldly and they say, "Hey world, look at me!"
Why then, I say, can we not be like them?
Why can we not turn away from the stories fed to us by an uncaring media - out for 'rating's only - and create our own story of success, become our own celebrities, celebrate our own joyous lives?
We can and we should and some of us do.
It is, after all, what our Moms told us to do.
Didn't our Moms tell us we could be anything? Didn't our Moms tell us to try a little harder, just when we were going to give us? Didn't our Moms tell us to smile and move forward? Didn't our Moms say how proud they were of us, even when we felt we were failing?
Growing up is hard work. The garden of life has layers of dirt to push our heads up through. Sometimes, it takes more than one season to break through that last clump of clay that is holding us back.
Sometimes we have to push the clay aside, despite how heavy it is, or how hard to move, or how dense and dark and covered with pointy edges.
Sometimes, we have to cry and swear and grunt, until we get to the surface and see the sun.
Oh, the fun of writing in metaphor.
Oh, the fun of looking at life from the view of flowers - basking in the riotous joy of their many colors.
Oh, the fun of exploring how life grows beautiful things, out something as boring as dirt.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom, wherever you are.
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