How does my garden grow

I’ve been accused of always needing a project. 

Maybe accused is too strong of a word. Maybe it’s more like ‘people who know me have noticed that I always need a project.’ 

Sometimes it’s said as a compliment, a nod to my ambition or industriousness. Sometimes it’s said in wonder, with a vibe of ‘how do you find the energy to try so many new things?!’ Occasionally, there’s an air of wistfulness, a wish that they could be interested in the variety of things I’ve tried, or that they had the time to try them. Sometimes it’s said derisively, and I can hear the question of ‘why don’t you just stick with one thing?’  in their words or in their tone.

(I could explain and expound on all the things, but really, it would be tedious. Here’s a brief list of hobbies, not employment, for which I have paid for lessons/training and/or bought all the gear: piano, ukulele, guitar, drums;   knitting, sewing;   photography;   writing, playwriting, acting, clowning;   puppets - building, carving, performing;  sculpture, drawing, painting - watercolour and acrylics;  skiing - downhill and cross country, triathlon, biking - road and mountain, hiking, camping, assorted types of travel….

I’m exhausted reading it, but it’s probably not an exhaustive list. 

As a youth, Kurt Vonnegut was working one summer at an archeology dig. He was telling an archeologist about all his varied hobbies, and how he wasn’t good at any of them. The archeologist said to him:

“I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.” 

Vonnegut’s take away from that was this:

“…I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “Win” at them.”

When I was a kid, these types of messages were familiar. Things like “Whatever you do, do it the best you can.” 

“It doesn’t matter if you end up being a garbage collector, just be the BEST garbage collector out there.” 

If any of us brought home a school mark of 98%, the typical response would be ‘what happened to the other two percent?’  Said with a laugh and a chuckle, but it didn’t feel funny. It felt like the seed of ‘not good enough’ was being planted, deep and early and often, so pretty much guaranteed to grow. 

Still today, the weeds of imperfection keep popping up, and I keep pulling them. Over and over. This one is not good enough, I’ll stop, I’ll try something else, that will be not good enough, repeat. As though the first time, or first 10 times, even the first 100 times I do something, I should be good at it. As though it has to be 100% every time I try. As though the joy of trying isn’t good enough. As though the effort is only worthy if it’s productive and successful.

I once had a plant show up in my front yard. I was about to mow the lawn, and I realized it must have been a while, because although the grass (aka patch of mostly green things) was not very long, there was one plant that was several inches higher than the surrounding greenery. I could have mowed it over, kept those lines straight. But I went around. I thought, if you can grow in this, this unwatered, over shaded, chicken pecked patch of earth, let’s give you a chance. Plus I had no idea what it could be, and I was willing to wait, to anticipate, what might arrive.

Every week it grew taller and taller. It grew rapidly. It had a strong stalk, a multitude of leaves climbing their way to the top. No flowers or anything, I didn’t even know if maybe it was a baby tree deciding to root far too close to my septic tank. It could have been a self seeded marijuana plant. I had no idea. I let it go anyway, turning my lawnmower away from it every week or so. 

After about a month, it started to produce little buds. This was exciting!! I still had no idea what it could be, but it appeared that it was going to flower. My mower easily went around the plant now.

A short time later, the blossoms opened. They were purple, a deep glorious purple. The flowers had star shaped deeper purple, almost black, striations radiating out from the centre. It grew to almost five feet tall, full of flowers, a testament to leaving the things alone to be who they are meant to be. 

It was a purple mallow, which is apparently a perennial, and not a weed, but not one that I had planted. It must have self seeded from a neighbour, its seed blowing on the wind, looking for a favourable condition to stop, sprout, and grow. 

I wondered how long it had been there, getting mowed over summer after summer, 

just waiting for someone - someone lazy enough - to not mow long enough - for it to sprout high enough - to be noticed. 

Waiting for someone patient enough to let it keep growing. Waiting for someone curious enough to wonder what it could be. 

All those seeds that I’ve been planting in my garden of hobbies - what if I stop mowing them down before they start to really blossom?

What if I decide to be patient enough and curious enough to see what might blossom in me? Maybe it’s time to give myself the time to stop, sprout, and grow, weeds and all. 

So now, if anyone asks, what are you working on these days? The answer will be nothing. Nothing I do has to have the connotation of work, of a chore, of a must do. 

And when they ask ‘well then, what are you doing?’ I will answer, truthfully, whatever I want. 

Oh, okay, they might say, but where is your focus? And I will answer, more truthfully than ever before, by saying ‘it’s on myself. It’s on what brings me joy, what makes me feel good, on whatever I feel like doing that day.’

One day it might be writing, it might be cleaning, it might be walking the dog. It might be doing whatever I can to help my family, my spouse, my community. It might be puppetry, or painting, or watching tv, or reading. It might be working my body or soothing my soul.

It’s a privilege and a blessing to not have to be good at anything, anymore, and to recognize that I now have the opportunity to try… everything. 

So now I have one project. My last project. 

And my last project will last the rest of my life, because my last project is me.