As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. ~~Carl Jung
On the longest day of the year, perhaps it’s good to look to the light as a source of wisdom to carry us through the ever darkening days that will surely come.
Last year I was a new gardener. I built a raised bed garden. I had been thinking about this for a few years and, inspired by my green thumbed friend Christina who encouraged me, I decided this was the year. I prepared the soil, bought some plants at the local garden center. I was thrilled by possibility. I imagined my kitchen counter piled high with fresh vegetables and herbs, my family and friends feasting joyfully on my bountiful harvest. By July I had more garden than I had anticipated. It was abundant. It was green and lush. It was overwhelmingly extravagant. It was waaaay too much.
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| Last year's garden. Oh boy! |
Last year, in my exuberance, I over planted the garden. It was new. I was a rookie. It was fun but because of my over planting many of my cherry tomatoes died. The zucchini that grew so fast and furiously got eaten in part by birds, in part by creatures of unknown specification. I felt vindicated when my friend Christina, my garden mentor and guru told me, “Just go with it this year and see what happens. You will figure out what works and what doesn’t and try again next year.” That sat well. Thank you for permission to fail big Christina. As an oldest child and a three on the Enneagram, that felt good to me.
So this year, I planned my garden with a bit more care and caution. I spaced and staked the tomatoes. I limited my zucchini to just a few plants. I added peppers and squash and even some lavender, thinking I might make some fancy lavender teas or ice creams or some gourmet epicurean delight such as that. A girl can dream.
So far so good. My plants are growing well. The rains are coming at nice intervals and it hasn’t been too hot. All but the basil is thriving. I am not sure why.
Trial and error. Trying new things is great for our growth. We can learn from our mistakes if we give ourselves permission to fail. The one caveat is we must not give up. We will know when it is time to move on. But tenacity is imperative. Stay the course. Keep the faith. "Hope is a form of planning," as Gloria Steinem told me in an interview.
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| This year's garden. More reasonable. |
When I decided to start acting and really throw my hat into the ring, it was scary. I spent a lot of money on those first headshots. I was questioning myself at every turn. Who am I to think this could turn out OK? Many times I wanted to just give up. Auditions are the worst. Rejection is even worse. At one of my first auditions for a commercial for a local PBS channel l was asked to pantomime making spaghetti. At forty, with young children, I had made spaghetti for my family countless times. I committed to that spaghetti. I gathered my ingredients, put the pasta in the big pot on the stove, turned the gas on, leaning down to observe the flame making sure it was just right. Opening the jar of sauce was an opportunity to show my real acting chops… You get the point. I got the part. That small success gave me courage to keep going. And I did for many years. I learned a lot. Mostly about myself. I learned to be in the present moment (with the help of yoga and meditation practice). I learned to listen to directors and to the other actors in the scene. I learned that my part was no more important than anyone else’s, including the under celebrated crew that worked behind the scenes. We are a team brought together for a brief time to tell a story. I learned to let go of outcomes and just do my best. I learned that I was good at some things but not others. Auditioning hundreds of times for House of Cards, taught me that sometimes it is just not meant to be, or in the cards (hee hee). But, I never gave up.
I suppose I got this from my Daddy. He always told us “Never say can’t.” But he said it with a slight country twang for emphasis, “Never say “c’aint” - a combination of can’t and ain’t.
Dad worked hard. He had his own electrical contracting business. It was quite successful but he was always making adjustments based on the economy, his family circumstances, his need for more rest and recreation. At one time, he had many trucks and many employees. Then during leaner economic times he pared his business down to just a few. He approached change with balance and caution. But he did make changes as necessary. To my childish self-centered mind Dad seemed to adjust to circumstances seamlessly and easily. Most likely to him, these changes were not as easy as they looked.
What happens when things get hard, we lose jobs, loved ones, or our physical or emotional health is precarious? What happens when life gets routine and we fall into repeating patterns? Same thing day after day. Wake, work, eat, sleep. Energy drains. Addictions can set in if we are not careful. We can look outside of ourselves for a quick fix or for something to break the monotony. What if we looked inside, paused and reflected for a time on what would bring new life, new growth?
Getting still enough to ask is helpful. What light is being offered to me at this time?
In my family life, in my marriage, in my career, I have seen season after season of change. Sometimes growth and change happened on its own without my having to intervene, like the mint and the chives in my garden. Sometimes there was stagnation like the basil that is not doing well this year. I have found that when I ignore the call to new growth, suffering happens. It can be subtle. Stillness helps discern the next right move.
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| My first pepper! |
Deciding to give professional acting and voiceover a shot, write a book, teach yoga, go back to school have all been scary but life giving. For me, practice makes, not perfection, but, rather satisfaction. There is a blessed satisfaction that can transform into joy when we try new things. I have found that the greatest transformation and joy has come from a threefold process of deep listening (hearing the call to plant a garden, write a book, take a class, volunteer, etc.) following through with the task at hand (planting the garden), and finally, letting go of the need to control the outcome as my friend Christina suggested. Ultimately, the greatest joys have come out of sharing my gifts (my love) with others. I wonder if you have felt the same.
On this the longest day of the year we are reminded of the abundance of light, of love, of possibility for new growth. As we head into the familiar pattern of shortened days and the certainty of darkness, what is it you want to carry into this next season? We can be fortified by the light but only if we can absorb and accept what it has to offer. Listen deeply. What is it God is calling you to add to your garden or perhaps to weed out? What needs to die to make space for new growth? What would happen if you gave yourself permission to fail? Where can you cultivate gratitude?
Plants grow toward the light. Some will come back, tenacious as my mother’s mint and my thick green pungent chives. Some will be delicate like the basil and no matter how much love we give it, it just will not take root. Each new growth is a little different in character. Like God tends to us individually with tender love and care, so we must tend our own gardens. And God, she sees our efforts, and we are lovingly, extravagantly and abundantly rewarded.
