The Thing That Makes Me Happiest - Draft 4.5

The same day I planted irises in the yard outside my Tiny Cottage, I pulled up a bunch of weeds that usually grow so tall I can't see my car behind them.  I also broadcast a collection of seeds - broadleaf and holy basils, poppies, tomatoes, zinnias - around the stump next to the driveway.  And then I forgot all about the project.

Farming is hard work, not just from the perspective of the farmer but also from the perspective of the seed.  Everything's an enemy:  the sun, the rain, the bugs, the birds, the other plants.  As a new sprout you are in constant danger of being eaten, strangled, or baked. 

As the weeds grew back in around the stump, I noticed a zinnia standing a little taller than everybody else.  It seemed to be the only product of my sowing to survive, all cute and limey-green.

And then some days later, the thing happened that makes me happiest: 

Another human came along and, with no idea that I was responsible for anything, made improvements.  Somebody cleared out the riffraff around the zinnia so it could thrive and be seen. 

This is what I do, on both sides of the equation.  I randomly start shit, and sometimes I find that someone else started something; then I try to improve on the foundation.  I love it so much when somebody else does that, even if it's not for me.  You see how the bees work with the flowers:  humans need to acknowledge that gestalt is what produces seed for the future and that the future matters. It's coming, whether we collaborate or not.

Not all efforts come to fruition - mine or anybody else's - and so there's no use getting bunched up if a project fails.  That's why we keep trying, yeah?  Part of the journey is looking for opportunities to leave a place better than you found it.

Take a moment to realise that the effort itself is just gorgeous. 



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