As we nourish our soil for the seeds we eagerly anticipate planting, I find myself getting restless. I want the blooms and fruits of my creative endeavors to already be at my fingertips, for their sweet aromas to fill my soul. I want them to be ripe and ready for my taking. 

But right now, I just have dirt under my nails. And I hate having dirt under my nails.

Nourishing our soil really just means enriching our foundations to support our goals and dreams. I want a big office space with lots of plants. I want to spend all of my spare time in my craft room. I dream of the version of me that wakes up to smell that sweet creative drive before my coffee is even done, happily making my way to said office space to do the work that’s worth doing. 

But there is nothing in my soil from last year that will bring that to fruition. Looking back at 2023, I spent a lot of time wondering what would come next and desperately searching for something, anything, that would inspire change. I didn’t even know what that change would be, but luckily my stubborn streak is rooted in hope like a much needed weed in my garden. Even the dandelions serve an important purpose.

I used to have long-term goals that seemed impossible. Honestly, they were. These goals were not ultimately meant for me to achieve. I thought I wanted them so badly it hurt, and I tried everything to take a single step toward them; but every time I did, it wasn’t worth it. The entire journey was uphill and burdened by people and mindsets that never gave me the support I needed. So I gave up and walked away from my goals.

When the pandemic shut the whole world down, I was terrified. Suddenly the journey was ten times harder. And after a few months of diving down bottles of alcohol to escape that fear, I decided to face it. I decided to face myself, to take a good long look at why my goals were so impossible. I knew it was supposed to be about the journey itself, but that was impossible too. Why?

I quit drinking in isolation and found out why I was so surrounded by fear on my journey… because that’s where it started. My partner and I wanted a house, a place of our own. He hated where we were and took every opportunity to express it to me. He wanted to move states away and have enough room to host his family during their yearly reunions. He was done with this town. I wasn’t, and I’m still not. 

The answer never really clicked. Instead, it gradually settled into the void in my heart that was left from letting go of fear. I mourned the life I never had that I thought I wanted for so long. And in my grieving, I found both clarity and my hesitance to let go.

That entire relationship was a slow downward spiral that lasted years. We always had big dreams together, but never quite figured out how to seek and accept the support we needed, even from each other. We never nourished our soil in preparation for new growth, and our roots were stifled.

In the spirit of vulnerability, my default is to take any ounce of anger and turn it inward. I was deeply disappointed in myself for giving up, remembering the confusion and frustration of when my dad left, the grief that settled in when my stepdad passed away, the hopelessness I felt when my mother sent me away as a teen, the few fights I had with my best friend in high school, and even the traffic from yesterday that made me a few minutes late for work. It all flooded my heart at once. I was still holding on to it. My roots were long stifled with struggle.

I thought I had forgiven all of that, and to some degree I did. I forgave the men I loved who had left my life. I forgave the decisions my mother and best friend made in desperation. Traffic, well, it just is what it is. I just had to forgive the actions of others that were rooted in fear. So I did. It’s forgiving myself for the same thing that feels like that impossible journey all over again.

I hate this dirt under my nails because it feels like lost potential. It’s the soil I never learned how to properly nourish and expected to feed my roots anyway. It’s all of those big feelings that were rooted in fear and led to many decisions that never truly served me.

This is the dirty work, the labor that almost turns our garden metaphor into actual, tangible dirt. We have been talking about shedding layers that no longer serve us, and with all the work we have put into embracing the stillness of the season, we also need to pull those weeds that are rooted in fear.

In writing this, in letting peace sit with me as I reflect, I am ready to forgive myself for letting go and not knowing what I know now. I learned those hard lessons, and I’m still here and ready to grow. At the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about. I am forgiven for nourishing my fear instead of my foundation. 

Fear will never provide a solid foundation for anything except itself. And I have better seeds to plant this year. 

P.S. Our first official Garden Party on the first day of Spring will be open to members and nonmembers alike! This seasonal perspective has already made a huge difference in our personal and professional lives, and we would love to share our joy and visions it has ushered in. Be on the lookout for how to sign up - this one includes a personal parcel delivered straight to you, from us, with love. Details coming soon!