Tiller

The secret ingredient, he tells me, is chicken poop. It’s late on a Sunday afternoon in June and we’ve finally found the time to put a few plants in the ground for some semblance of a vegetable garden.  He turns the soil in a small section of the bed, amending with precious fertilizer from the neighbor’s coop. He suggests I transplant the lettuce, an uninvited yet welcome guest who shows up perennially, and sometimes in the wrong place.  I’m reluctant to move it, given what I know about flowers and their aversion to an uprooting during the blooming season.  I’m not confident the plant will rebound this summer.

Each one of us sows an enormous amount of seeds in a lifetime.  Some of these seeds we deliberately and lovingly plant with full intention. We take responsibility to water, feed and nurture them as they grow.  We guide them as best we can, give attention and direction we hope will lead to a bumper crop.  We love them into the harvest, ripe to be plucked and shared with the world.

Other seeds we may not even be aware we are sowing.  The seed of perspective inspiring an adversary to see things differently, or the seed of a new idea sparked into fruition.  The seed of a question propelling another in a new direction. Or the seed of wisdom causing someone to reconsider a decision. It takes someone coming back to us saying, “Hey, you’ve changed my life,” for us to even know we planted a thought that grew, that we’ve made a difference.

This life is a journey.  We can’t begin to understand our true impact, how we affect every individual we come in contact with.  We can’t anticipate which seeds will germinate and grow and which will never make it out of the ground.  But that’s the beauty of it, and why we need to keep sowing.

 

Every New Year’s Eve we feel compelled to assess the last 525,600 minutes of our lives, but the reality is our work isn’t completed in calendar year blocks.  What if you thought about 2017 in terms of the seeds you’ve sown?  And the cultivating you’ve done to bring those seeds along?  I bet you’d feel richer.

I’m grateful I had the courage to sell my house this summer; I see my kids blossoming now that they are out on their own.  I’m grateful I made it my mission to meet talented individuals in my organization; I’m helping grow careers.  I’m grateful I gave myself permission to go on vacation this year, to spend time connecting with family and friends, immersed in the cultures of San Diego, New Orleans, Northern Wisconsin and Seattle.  I’m grateful for every time I stood on my yoga mat and told myself I am enough. I’m grateful for every time I decided to listen to someone who needed to talk. I’m grateful for the new life I’m creating with an amazing partner.

The transplanted lettuce didn’t make it, despite all the water and chicken poop.  But the transplanted me is thriving.  

Happy New Year!