dirt.
I recently submitted a profile to mediabistro.com, an online networking site for freelance work. After completing my profile and listing my experience with freelance writing/editing/media, I nestled into a small, dark cave of soil, hoping to enrich myself with the contributions of other, more experienced matter. That's a nice enough idea, as I appreciate the way flowers and plants blossom, and I'm constantly aware of the deeper significance of this process in daily life. Growth is good. But before you grow, you dive into the cold dirt and sit there with other people's roots, bulbs, decaying leaves, and earthworms.
The beauty of this growth underworld is that the truly great growers - the redwoods, the dahlias, the orchids - have a strong presence in the dirt. Their roots are big, old, tough, and have endured flooding rains that choked their necks, arid heat that parched them dry, violent winds threatening to yank them right out. The prairie grasses, the wild daisies, the dandelions - these are beautiful, but not strong enough. They are easily trampled, easily pulled out - in the dirt, and out again.
I want to be a redwood or a dahlia or an orchid - and if so, I have to remain a seedling long enough to sprout roots and take hold of the earth around me. And I must make sure that my roots are tough. Tough enough to hold on tight when it's snowing in Boston and everything is white and cold; tough enough to sprout a new root when another rejection comes in; tough enough to keep sprouting if only for the love of new growth.
There is a season for everything, so I am trying to appreciate this season in the dirt. In the dirt I am learning the patience in slow growth, the strength in persistence, the blessing of continually finding new beauty in the world. I read this in an article: "Retailers know gardeners are suckers for flowers, so many plants are manipulated to bloom way too early at prime shopping time. That may leave them weak, stressed and sickly in your garden." I'm not sure which is the worst - weak, stressed, or sickly - but I'm positive I don't want to be any one of those things, as a person or a writer. I'd rather wait it out and be strong enough, blooming when I'm ready to bloom, not manipulating myself to flower early. It would be nice to see a vibrant flower, but I want to produce one that will last the season, and re-bloom again and again.
Patience in the dirt, absorbing the nutrients of the redwoods, dahlias, and orchids, is where I know I will grow. And once I have rooted, I'll leave the dark cave of the soil for a bright warm heaven above ground - grass, trees, fresh air - and only the sky to limit how high I can grow.