My garden is teaching me things about myself and it's got me shook...
“Don’t bother,” they said.
“The squirrels will eat them,” they said.
Like many of my hobbies and interests, my foray into gardening was born of my need to prove them wrong. It’s kind of my thing, proving people wrong. I’ve always been driven by a challenge to better myself. When my abilities are called into question, I will prove myself.
Let me start by saying that the people were not wrong. City gardening is not for the weak or the impatient or the easily deterred. It is a lesson in the willingness and ability to fail and then pick yourself back up, dust yourself off, toss those half-eaten-by-asshole-squirrels tomatoes over the fence and keep going.
When I decided to plant a garden, I was driven not only by the desire to prove my naysayers wrong, but to have a cute backyard space to gather with friends and a few fresh herbs to clip and add to home-cooked dinners. What I didn’t anticipate was my little garden becoming a space where I would come to learn about myself (and others) on a deeper level.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
The whole “Bloom Where You’re Planted” thing is kind of bullshit. Some things just aren’t meant to grow and thrive anywhere and everywhere. Cilantro, relationships, careers…you can nurture them and put in the work, but in the end, if it ain’t happenin’, you’ve got to walk away…and that’s OK! It’s sort of like that old cliche: You’ve gotta stop watering dead plants. Both literally and figuratively. Things don’t always work out. As an extremely loyal person, this is difficult for me. However, I won’t be planting cilantro next year…it’s a lost cause.
Gardening is a lesson in patience. I really need to learn this lesson. Patience is not one of my many virtues. In fact, I am one of the least patient people on earth. In the world of free two-day shipping and HBO On Demand, I want what I want when I want it…and chances are, I WANT IT NOW. My garden doesn’t care. Especially my tomato plant. That thing gives zero fucks. My cherry tomatoes are ripening one at a time at this point and it’s killing me. Alas, patience is something that we all need more of - for ourselves, for others and clearly, for the tomatoes.
You are needed. I admit it, I need to be needed. I actually like taking care of people (and pugs), listening to their problems and also, feeding them - because cooking for one is sometimes sad and lonely. My garden needs me to take care of it. Water it, prune it, add nutrients, etc. In return, I’ve gained the satisfaction of nurturing something from seed to sprout to life-sustaining contributor to the survival of our earth and it’s many inhabitants. Like bees! Which I love despite being deathly allergic.
It is important to create space to learn, grow and nurture yourself. I didn’t set out on a course of self-realization and personal growth. I just wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t cursed with a black thumb and to create a swoonworthy backyard with an unlimited supply of basil. I didn’t know that the time spent nurturing my little garden would become time spent learning the importance of celebrating small victories and speaking kindly to myself when I fail.
Investing time, energy and money into something that makes you happy is always worth it. I’ve spent so much time working. Focused on making money. Trying to feel secure as an independent woman. Trying to get ahead. I have rarely invested in myself and the things that bring me happiness. My garden has proven to be a bit of a metaphor for my life. Small but mighty. Growing slow and steady. Happily giving but also in need of love and attention in order to thrive.
I’ve been documenting my gardening adventures over at @anniebeeinphi using #mylittlegardenoncedar. This journey has turned out to be less about proving others wrong and more about proving myself wrong. I am my biggest naysayer. Scrolling through the photos, I’ve been able to celebrate the success of starting from scratch and building something beautiful. Something that makes me smile when I look at it. Something that makes me feel accomplished when I think about it. Something that makes me feel needed when I water it and watch it grow. Where have you found unexpected lessons? I’d love to know!
