A summer of surprises
On planting in the dark and tumbling into the unexpected 🌱
One night in April, while barefooted and wearing headlamps, Aaron and I scattered wildflower seeds over our raised garden bed. The internet said to walk across the seeds, compressing them into the soil. So we did. It felt hokey-pokey, using the soles of our feet to coax seeds towards germination, but I’d dreamt of these flowers since the lease signing last winter and we would make dreams come true, damn it!
In mid-May, I expected to see flimsy arms push past the soil and stretch towards the sun, green and tender and full of promise. But I was still watering a mostly brown garden when I thought, I hope the wildflowers don’t die before they get to bloom. As a fledgling gardener, maybe flowers not-dying was already unrealistic. But the thought had tasted too gloomy, too unappetizing. I picked a yummier thought instead. Those wildflowers will be so pretty when they bloom.
*
Summer break came at the end of May. This break was a bustle—ten liminal weeks whirling with activities, travels, and meeting the new demands of starting a business. My stepson giggled his way through camps and we got the usual reports of how sweet he is (they’re right!). We got lucky with logistics and my side of the family—seven humans and three dogs—gathered under the same roof at the same time. Those family game nights were a hoot. Working from home again felt satisfying, and after a day of tasks, Aaron and I would watch our favorite characters show up to The Office and get lost in their intolerable shenanigans. But even my best-laid summer plans couldn’t keep the surprise disappointments away, and I must’ve been a fool to think otherwise.
Some commotion popped up and I was convinced every stir required my attention, like those dodgy plastic heads in Whac-A-Mole. I probably could’ve distanced myself, but instead, I stood there, giving away tokens to my energy and peace. Maybe this time I’ll win!1
Knowing I couldn’t solve or dissolve the chaos, I held out for a trip I’d anticipated for months. I was hopeful if we could just get there, to this temporary scene change, we’d feel renewed. The conditions seemed right. I didn’t think I was asking too much.
Well, I tumbled into bad news not long after reaching our destination. Our suitcases hadn’t even made it through the door. The experience was so untimely and unexpected that I wondered if God had punished me or if the devil had pulled a prank. This bitter reality taunted me, tugging at my optimism and joy. I couldn’t accept it. Really? This was actually happening? I laid down with tears that night and my mind traveled far, smuggling my sleep.
The particulars around that letdown aren’t important to rehash here, but maybe you understand how it feels when—PLUCK!—with absolute precision, your vulnerable, precious hopes are tweezed without warning. It sure can sting. If I had plastered a “handle with care” sticker over my heart or been altogether less fragile upon arrival, then maybe I wouldn’t have felt so flattened. Though my tender hopes were pressed down, I did my best to steady myself and stay open to the still-present-joys of the trip—even as little griefs discolored my dreams.
When I returned home, I gathered all the chores, responsibilities, and to-dos that I could, piling them on myself till you could hardly see who or what was underneath. No one had asked this of me, but it’s how I coped. Controlling and accomplishing what I could, then belly-flopping into self-pitiful trickery: shrink your needs, your dreams, your personality. Hope someone notices! Get annoyed when they do. Make excuses, and shrink some more! As you might expect, my emotions only grew larger and more tangly, prickles and thorns included.
Meanwhile, in July, the wildflowers were finally robed in greenery. I didn’t know if they’d make it, standing at a wilted three inches for most of June. But my mother-in-law had fertilized the garden during our travels, and those flowers must’ve felt all the love in the world. Next thing you knew, they had donned their little petal-hats and subtle signs of hot pink, marigold yellow, and periwinkle swayed in the sun. I watered them almost daily, filling up the can at the kitchen sink three times—a back and forth ritual till the garden was hydrated. It was a little weird, giving more time and care to short-lived flowers than I gave myself. But the flowers! They were so pretty when they bloomed.
*
Twenty-one days ago, summer break ended and the 6:45 am drives to school resumed. Our days have an ordinary quality again—packing lunchboxes, attending therapy appointments, earlier bedtimes for the grown ups. I like knowing there’s a shape to our calendar and a general schedule to uphold.
Yesterday, I plucked the crisped-over stems from the garden and gave water to the floppy but hanging-in-there flowers. These ladies are making their way to the curtain call of the season, and in a month’s time, fall will have its turn to dance.
As for me, after a stretch of feeling smushed—or like those seeds, compressed into the ground—I’m trying to reframe how I think about and react to my life and my story. Wondering what changes I can make to nourish my dreams and remind myself it’s not too late. With some stubborn hope, humility, and lots of help from above, I can still break through the dirt and soil. At first, these efforts might feel like planting in the dark, but I can honor my need for care, for time, and even for a morning like this—writing to you and me both—as I figure out how to flourish in a rugged, yet surprisingly magnificent world.
I wanted to write about this summer and share it with you because 1) I think honesty about our lives, the pretty and not-so, helps connect us to each other and 2) I’d really like to learn from you.
How do you keep going when you’ve collided with disappointment, disillusionment, or drooping dreams? What do you find helpful?
Looking forward to hearing your thoughts and ideas!
Till next time,
—E.T.
Still learning to not self-sabotage like this. It comes at too much of a cost!
I love this. It helped me to read it because it made me slow down and sit with some of the challenges we've faced recently, which made the hopefulness at the end all the more authentic and substantive and chill-inducing. Hang in there little flower!
Oh gosh, such a great post! Erika, I love the sound of treading the seeds into the soil with your feet - what a beautiful idea. I'm so sorry about the bad news, the disappointment. You've got this, though, you really have. What you've said here is so important:
"As for me, after a stretch of feeling smushed—or like those seeds, compressed into the ground—I’m trying to reframe how I think about and react to my life and my story."
Reframing is such a good attitude. I'm trying to do this, too. I know it's a different story entirely, but I've been lacking in energy in a big way recently, and am finding it much less frustrating now that I'm not using up the energy I have in struggling against how I'm feeling! Instead I'm finding alternative ways of not only doing things, but of thinking about them, too. Does that make sense?
Sending smiles! And sunshine, for those gorgeous flowers. xxx