What does growth actually look like? Often, I find it looks like this picture above. Walking in the woods this past weekend, I was delighted by seeing these first patches of white flowers after winter. I have come to learn that they are called Snowdrops. Discovering the name itself was delightful! I bent down to take a close up picture and I went to remove a dead leaf that was lying on top of them only to find that one of the flowers had grown through a hole in the leaf. It was the perfect depiction of growth, how it is not necessarily straightforward, or easy, but if we are determined, we will find a way.
In my life, I find that growth is often very uncomfortable. It forces me to reckon with what I don't know. It forces me to remember humility. It forces me to confront what I can't understand yet and in doing that, it has me face what I fear. So spring, a time of growth, renewal, and a return to life, while beautiful and awe-inspiring, can also entail necessary challenges and discomfort. But, thank goodness for the ability to stick through the hardship to get somewhere new. Thank goodness that this flower didn't stop when it hit the leaf, but it stayed on course and found a way through it. Life would cease to be if this didn’t happen.
Speaking of growth, recently, I was forced to confront a situation I felt a strong aversion to. Everything in my body was in revolt. I wanted it to just go away. I still do, but now I have “pushed through the leaf,” what was my original obstacle, and I feel myself stretching and growing. It is still uncomfortable. I would rather it not be there, but it is, and that's what's true. This is here, along with my deep aversion, and so what am I going to do next? My growth has been in asking myself to show up and see how I can meet it with as much kindness, compassion, and patience as I can muster.
I had two helpful messages come to me during this time of confronting what was so unpleasant. The first happened sitting in an emergency room on a Friday night. If you have ever sat in an emergency waiting room, you know that you can be there for quite a while. I watched all kinds of people come through the doors. I watched the room fill up, gradually thin out, and fill up again. I watched people come moaning in pain. I watched people leave relieved to be going home. The lesson came when I watched a crew of volunteer EMT workers come in to drop two men off. They didn't just admit them and leave. They made sure to say goodbye and to wish them well. It wasn't just in their words, the care was in their eyes and in their gestures. It didn't matter who these guys were, what state they were in, what race, what economic status, they treated them like human equals, like people worthy of their attention, like people with feelings and needs. For many of us, these two men they dropped off were people we might want to turn away from, or ignore, but they didn't and it was beautiful and it was just what I needed to see.
The second message came in having a conversation with my sister about my father. She reminded me how all kinds of people would come through his restaurant in New York City and how he never turned anyone away. Some really unusual characters would come through his tiny, West Village landmark. He wasn't threatened. He would let the person who sat there talking to themselves, mumbling how the waitress was a whore (my sister), have their coffee and toast. He would simply help the person next to them move over if they were uncomfortable. My dad has been gone for 24 years now, but there was something about remembering this detail of how he was with his customers that showed me how I could be. It reminded me that I could feel an aversion to something without turning away from it and that, in fact, it feels a lot more powerful, a lot more connecting, a lot more brave.
As we face this new season which invites us to awaken and renew, it can be helpful to slow down and recognize the gifts of life returning in all its fullness AND to acknowledge what it takes to open up, to stretch, and to grow into this world again. We must hold them both, the joy of unfolding and the growing pains in the process. We can remind ourselves that there is nothing wrong. It's all part of becoming. We are always becoming.
Wishing you a light filled spring, abundant in awe and growth, and the courage and patience to be in the process of its unfolding to arrive at even more life than we thought was possible.
Oh! I can't ignore the Irish half of me. My mom and grandma would appreciate my recognizing St. Patrick's Day. A familiar and timeless blessing for you:
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
🌱☘️
Jean