Hope
My violet is blooming again.
Violets are rather fickle; not the best starter plant for someone like me who wishes she had a green thumb. Thankfully, when Mom gave it to me after my senior dance recital, she also gave me a "violet pot," a genius invention which consistently delivers the perfect amount of water to the plant. The pot makes it a lot easier to care for such a delicate life.
Of course, if anyone can screw something so easy up, it's me. After my return to Marquette and all of the wedding chaos and readjustment took place, I noticed the withering blossoms and realized I'd forgotten about my violet for awhile. I looked in the pot and, sure enough, it was bone dry. I quickly added water, of course, and did my best to trim the dead flowers. By the time I'd finished, only leaves remained. I thought for sure I'd ended the poor life of the thing. I kept an eye on it, though, just in case.
To my very pleasant surprise, I noticed a new, beautiful bloom on the plant this week. It made me more excited than I expected it would. My excitement, I realized, was not just about the plant. It was a reestablishment of faith in my own abilities. For the past I-don't-know-how-long, I've been overwhelmed with self-doubt and surrender. I haven't felt capable, ambitious, deserving, necessary...I've just been existing, feeling like a bit of a failure without actually letting that emotion be known to my outside world. But if I can resurrect that violet--if I can take what I've learned and apply it successfully and reap the benefits of this gorgeous, high-maintenance living thing--maybe there's hope for me sorting out my life yet. Maybe there's still justified hope that I'll be able to sort it out, to find something I love and at which I am excellent, to create a successful life for myself.
Maybe. At the very least, a girl can hope. This one now has another reason to do so.
Violets are rather fickle; not the best starter plant for someone like me who wishes she had a green thumb. Thankfully, when Mom gave it to me after my senior dance recital, she also gave me a "violet pot," a genius invention which consistently delivers the perfect amount of water to the plant. The pot makes it a lot easier to care for such a delicate life.
Of course, if anyone can screw something so easy up, it's me. After my return to Marquette and all of the wedding chaos and readjustment took place, I noticed the withering blossoms and realized I'd forgotten about my violet for awhile. I looked in the pot and, sure enough, it was bone dry. I quickly added water, of course, and did my best to trim the dead flowers. By the time I'd finished, only leaves remained. I thought for sure I'd ended the poor life of the thing. I kept an eye on it, though, just in case.
To my very pleasant surprise, I noticed a new, beautiful bloom on the plant this week. It made me more excited than I expected it would. My excitement, I realized, was not just about the plant. It was a reestablishment of faith in my own abilities. For the past I-don't-know-how-long, I've been overwhelmed with self-doubt and surrender. I haven't felt capable, ambitious, deserving, necessary...I've just been existing, feeling like a bit of a failure without actually letting that emotion be known to my outside world. But if I can resurrect that violet--if I can take what I've learned and apply it successfully and reap the benefits of this gorgeous, high-maintenance living thing--maybe there's hope for me sorting out my life yet. Maybe there's still justified hope that I'll be able to sort it out, to find something I love and at which I am excellent, to create a successful life for myself.
Maybe. At the very least, a girl can hope. This one now has another reason to do so.