Episode #57913: A New Hope
Apparently, I've been seeing too many "Star Wars" themed memes on Facebook... which is where that title came from.
There are a lot of things I am very capable of nurturing. My students at school. My friendships. My congregation. My musical ensembles. My cats. Plants generally do not make the list. My one real accomplishment in that arena is a pathos that I've had since 2000. It was a gift from a couple of friends as encouragement for my upcoming Master's Recital Hearing, which I was quite stressed about. It has survived 3 major moves, gone from 6' long tendrils to only 2 leaves, and is now back to about a dozen leaves and growing.
Then again, pathos are one variety of plant that are practically impossible to kill.
Last spring, I decided to decorate my balcony with several plants in pots. I chose ones that supposedly thrived in shade, as my balcony gets very, very little sun. During the course of the summer, which was exceptionally hot, and where I was traveling for conferences, one by one they died.
It turns out that plants need to be watered more frequently than every 10 days or so. Especially when its 105 outside.
Two of the plants were hostias. I used to teach a class for active older adults, and one of the regulars is extremely active in her garden club. She told me to just leave the hostias alone, and that they would come back. So I did, not because I was optimistic, but because I am admittedly lazy enough to allow dead plants to hang out on my balcony all fall and winter.
A little over a week ago, I noticed something: green shoots sprouting up from the pots midst the beige-colored dead leaves. In addition to my pathos and a small tree that was a Christmas gift, I started watering them as well. They are now growing like gangbusters. I recognized in that a lesson in patience, and also a reminder that hope is never completely dead. Seeing those shoots was akin to a firebird moment for me: something new and living arising out of something dead and almost forgotten.
I'm trying to apply that to my love life now. Patience may turn into something new, something unexpected. Today, in a very small way, I've seen a shoot.
Last week I'd emailed the ex with a question about LinkedIn. He didn't know the answer, and said he'd check it out and get back to me. He never did. So this morning -- a week later -- I sent him another email. I just asked if he'd had a chance to check it out, did I need "LinkedIn for Dummies," made a comment about a concert I knew he'd attended over the weekend, and then said, "I do hope that someday, given our mutual interests and acquaintances, that we can really be friends. All in good time, all in God's time, though."
No pressure, no demands. Other than the question of "have you had a chance to check this out," there were no questions, nothing requiring a response.
He wrote me back right away. The email was not reserved or overly formal, as his communiques have been since the break-up. He answered my question about LinkedIn, told me I should've gone to the concert, and then said, "I am certain we will re-connect at some point soon."
A firebird? A shoot rising up? Another straw I'm blindly grasping at? I don't know. Many of the books I've been reading lately have been encouraging me to "live in the moment." Experience the here and now, and not worry about that which I cannot control -- which includes the future. Be it Buddhist philosophy or the Holy Scriptures, the lessons of patience, stillness, quiet, and trusting the plan for the future are universal.
And maybe, just maybe, I can move on from my playlists of "screw you, I'm a kick-ass woman and you're missing out" songs. Or maybe not. All in good time.
There are a lot of things I am very capable of nurturing. My students at school. My friendships. My congregation. My musical ensembles. My cats. Plants generally do not make the list. My one real accomplishment in that arena is a pathos that I've had since 2000. It was a gift from a couple of friends as encouragement for my upcoming Master's Recital Hearing, which I was quite stressed about. It has survived 3 major moves, gone from 6' long tendrils to only 2 leaves, and is now back to about a dozen leaves and growing.
Then again, pathos are one variety of plant that are practically impossible to kill.
Last spring, I decided to decorate my balcony with several plants in pots. I chose ones that supposedly thrived in shade, as my balcony gets very, very little sun. During the course of the summer, which was exceptionally hot, and where I was traveling for conferences, one by one they died.
It turns out that plants need to be watered more frequently than every 10 days or so. Especially when its 105 outside.
Two of the plants were hostias. I used to teach a class for active older adults, and one of the regulars is extremely active in her garden club. She told me to just leave the hostias alone, and that they would come back. So I did, not because I was optimistic, but because I am admittedly lazy enough to allow dead plants to hang out on my balcony all fall and winter.
A little over a week ago, I noticed something: green shoots sprouting up from the pots midst the beige-colored dead leaves. In addition to my pathos and a small tree that was a Christmas gift, I started watering them as well. They are now growing like gangbusters. I recognized in that a lesson in patience, and also a reminder that hope is never completely dead. Seeing those shoots was akin to a firebird moment for me: something new and living arising out of something dead and almost forgotten.
I'm trying to apply that to my love life now. Patience may turn into something new, something unexpected. Today, in a very small way, I've seen a shoot.
Last week I'd emailed the ex with a question about LinkedIn. He didn't know the answer, and said he'd check it out and get back to me. He never did. So this morning -- a week later -- I sent him another email. I just asked if he'd had a chance to check it out, did I need "LinkedIn for Dummies," made a comment about a concert I knew he'd attended over the weekend, and then said, "I do hope that someday, given our mutual interests and acquaintances, that we can really be friends. All in good time, all in God's time, though."
No pressure, no demands. Other than the question of "have you had a chance to check this out," there were no questions, nothing requiring a response.
He wrote me back right away. The email was not reserved or overly formal, as his communiques have been since the break-up. He answered my question about LinkedIn, told me I should've gone to the concert, and then said, "I am certain we will re-connect at some point soon."
A firebird? A shoot rising up? Another straw I'm blindly grasping at? I don't know. Many of the books I've been reading lately have been encouraging me to "live in the moment." Experience the here and now, and not worry about that which I cannot control -- which includes the future. Be it Buddhist philosophy or the Holy Scriptures, the lessons of patience, stillness, quiet, and trusting the plan for the future are universal.
And maybe, just maybe, I can move on from my playlists of "screw you, I'm a kick-ass woman and you're missing out" songs. Or maybe not. All in good time.
Comments
Post a Comment
We are all adults here. Comments are welcome, but they are also moderated because there has been a marked increase in spam, trolling, and generally snarky and nasty comments being submitted. Different opinions are welcome when expressed maturely; rude comments and links will not be published.