The Seeds We Plant
Sometimes it's hard to know what's working.
None of us were given an instruction manual for life. Whether it be parenting, taking care of a loved one who's sick, or navigating the delicate fringes of emotion within our relationships, sometimes we're simply at a loss of what to do next.
When we take action and the outcome is not as expected, that can be the hardest. It's something that I've noticed in myself. And the immediate thoughts are, “What did I do wrong? How do I fix it? Where have I fallen short this time? Was it because of this? Should I have done that instead?”
The awareness now is that this comes back to perfectionism. The expectation that each “solution” must work immediately, prove its value with return on investment immediately, otherwise all the effort was for nothing.
And that’s the thing. We expect ourselves to be perfect at things when we have no experience. Every version of your child requires a different level of understanding and communicating. Every season of life requires a different level of care. Every stage of a relationship requires us to show up differently. Be gentle with each other in different ways. Kind to each other in different ways. Needs change as we do. What is required then, also changes.
Maybe the actions we take towards the things we want are like seeds we plant. As the days, weeks, and months of the year pass, you plant more and more seeds. Soon you’ve lost count of how many seeds you’ve planted.
And at first, nothing seems to be happening. The soil stays, unmoved. There is no sign of progress. Some days there’s rain, helping you to water the seeds, as cold, and wet, and unpleasant as it may seem at times. And some days there’s sun, bringing forth hope and light for better days to come. And some days it’s overcast, neither here nor there, but even on those days, if we look carefully, it’s not that hard to see that magic is still unfolding.
And that’s the thing with goals. With aspirations. With hopes, dreams, and desires. It requires a certain level of faith, of patience, that just because we can’t see on the surface any proof of progress happening, doesn’t mean it’s not happening. The seeds we plant are growing roots in the earth, burrowing for depth and strength and longevity. And even as we see the first sprouts start to poke through, there is no controlling exactly when, how, or what it will look like. It will take shape in exactly the way it was intended, and perhaps grow in a direction we never imagined, to heights we never imagined.
And if it’s your first time planting a garden, there will be much to learn. Every iteration will bring experience, as you come to see what environment promotes the healthiest growth. How much attention is needed and in what areas in order to see success. And how the definition of the word changes and evolves and grows as you do. The only guarantee that you have is that it will not stop trying if you don’t.
Growth, like most things in life, is not something we can fully control. We can choose the seeds we plant and the soil in which it grows, but we cannot control the weather. We can control the timing of our actions, but we can’t control the timing of their fruition. And that is also the beauty of it, for a life without wonder would be a life without awe. How can we wonder if all is certain? How can we feel awe if all has been predetermined?
To act without knowing, without certainty, can be scary, and maybe even deeply uncomfortable. And that’s why change can be so hard. That’s why saying out loud what we want can be so hard. That’s why sometimes we stop ourselves before we’ve even started. But what if you did know one thing for certain? That if you start, just by planting that first seed, taking that first step, that something will grow. You may have no idea what the whole process looks like, you may have no idea what the result will be like. But the growth, that’s the inevitable part.
This is the garden that you tend to. This is your garden. The life that buds and blooms because of your time, and your work. Your energy. Your love. You cannot control the shape of each leaf, and you might not even notice day by day the incremental growth of each tree, shrub, fruit, or flower. But maybe on certain days, after a big rain, you look up, and seemingly everything has doubled or tripled in volume and size all of a sudden. It’s barely recognizable.
It’s hard to see what’s happening day to day. If any of our work is leading to the outcome we want. Moments like these remind us there is more at work than we can see. The things we put energy into will respond no matter what, in more ways than we can imagine. Beyond seeing it, we feel it. Beyond feeling it, we know it. And knowing it, we bring forth its being.
