A world in a bloom

Nature is captivating.

I’ve always been fascinated by nature. It’s rhythms. It’s relentless forging ahead - regardless of who’s on board or not. She pulls us all forward along this path called life. No reason. No rationale. Mother nature does her job on a micro and macro level.

I thought about this a lot the other day. This bloom was mesmerizing up close. Stamens. Pistils. And those luscious, red, velvety petals. It was fascinating. An entire world in something smaller than my hand. And that’s only the parts I could see. If I zoomed in, I wonder what other discoveries I would make…what miraculous small worlds I would uncover.

On the flip side, what if I zoomed out. Way out….

That little flower is part of a bigger picture. Part of a bigger fabric of life. Food for insects and energy for hummingbirds. Shelter for critters. And even beauty for the rest of us to gaze upon and treasure.

If you zoom out even further, the humble flower becomes almost insignificant. You no longer see it. You see a forest and tree tops. Zoom out even further it becomes part of a broader landscape - unseen from the air. Keep going and eventually all you see is a blue and white marble floating through space.

The older I get, the more I zoom out…so to speak. I see those details as a part of a bigger whole. I don’t need explanations or reasons. I just need to know that the earth keeps spinning and we keep plodding along day after day.

But sometimes I need to zoom in. I need to see the miracles of the smallest details that make me important and relative. I need to feel that my small contribution to this planet is worth something - no matter how small. I need to be curious about what’s close to me and not take for granted that this world - my world and all it’s pieces and parts - will continue on tomorrow or the next day whether anyone else notices or not.

The duality of this dynamic is not lost on me. How we can be seemingly insignificant, yet part of a bigger fabric of life or nature or this universe is a balance I think we all need to think about.

If you ask me, everything is important. We need all of us…all of the things that make this world go around. The individual is as important as the whole. The microcosms are as significant as the macroview. It’s a balance. A yin and yang. A pendulum that has to exist so that this little world keeps spinning.

And all those flowers have a chance to bloom.

Lesson in a bloom

This spring and summer so far, the flowers in my yard have all been putting on their best seasonal show. They stand out brightly, their colors calling out to remind us of the little miracles of Mother Nature always has in store for us.

But flowers are so fleeting. They appear sometimes seemingly out of nowhere. In the night, they emerge silently, like a surprise party from mother nature. I wake up and stand on my deck, marveling at how lovely they really are. And then, the next day almost without warning, they are gone. Just a brief memory in time.

Those flowers that seem so fragile and delicate somtimes. Yet, I overlook the strength it takes them to bloom - to show themselves. That is really what amazes me. All their energy goes into that moment - full face to the world. Showtime.

But the beauty and the miracle doesn’t really lie within the actual flower, does it? The beauty is really in the infrastructure that allows that plant to bloom in the first place. Roots. Stems. Leaves. All working towards the goal of the one part that gets noticed. It hardly seems fair. We look to those prettiest parts, colorful blooms facing the world, scanning over the real miracle that is happening…the support system.

The prettiest parts are noticeable for a reason…reproduction and survival. But I think the life lesson here is to appreciate the beauty - then remember how it gets there. An array of factors take place in making that flower grow and bloom. An entire system lives within that plant - just like us…just like our lives. Then the weather, the sunshine, the oxygen…they all play a role too. It takes more to create the beauty than what we see in the moment of the bloom.

While the flower is lovely, I find it all a reason to celebrate. Those pretty leaves. That strong stem. That deep, complex root system. It all deserves the celebration for hard work, support and a job well-done.

Falling to pieces

Yesterday, I was falling to pieces.

Literally couldn’t pick myself up off the ground and motivate to do anything positive whatsoever in the face of this virus that has made the world come to a screeching halt on every conceivable level. Every moment was spent ladled in doubt, depression and doom. “What ifs…” were plaguing me with paralyzing fear on a level that I haven’t experienced in quite a while.

As I sat frozen and helpless in the dining room, these flowers I gathered last week caught my eye. For they, too, were falling to pieces.

I wondered if it hurt them to fall apart like that. I wondered if they felt it in their core like I did yesterday. I also wondered if they felt a bit of levity after their release and that things were calmer, lighter, easier.

I slowly started coming apart at the seams then. And I allowed myself it to happen. Everything was hard. I sat in my room, tears trailing down my cheeks in the most horrifically familiar pattern. I have been here before in this virtual prison, mired in the depths of despair and doom. It feels like what I imagine it is to be buried alive. Suffocating. Heavy. Deep and thick like the pluff mud at the end of my street. I couldn’t bear to let anyone see me that afraid and vulnerable. So I stayed there motionless, curled in a ball in my room, crying into the pillows, wondering how I would make it out of yet another hole of despair on my own again.

Then came the words everyone needs when they are grieving: “But you don’t have to…that’s what this is….that’s what we are to each other…I am here if you need me.”

Those words were like water to my weary soul. Gentle and cool. Soft. Kind.

That’s what we need right now. Gentleness. Kindness. Love.

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I feel okay today. But I have been busy fixing things and baking more things (so much baking). I know enough about myself to know that this is a wave – just like yesterday was a wave and just like tomorrow will bring even MORE adventures. I am glad I have so many people to help cushion this blow right now and for that, I am humbly grateful.

For now, I will try to stay present and believe what is true RIGHT NOW. Right now, I have food to eat and a roof over my head. Right now is all we have. And right now is all I am focused on…no matter what that looks like.

Waiting to bloom

I have lived in fear and self-doubt for most of my life. My story is a wild ride of elements that sound like I should have packed it all in years ago. On paper, most people would have given up. But somehow, here I am, still standing.

Aside from the self doubt, there has always been a gentle undercurrent of hope in my heart. A spot that says "Keep going...you have got this." It's like a gentle hand, softly guiding me through the mud and mire of life. The hand that knows that I have it in me to bloom through it all like a delicate and brightly colored lotus flower rising from the mud.

It's the voice that says - do not give up. It's the voice that says - give it one more try. It's the voice that says - you can do this.

So I keep pushing. I keep persevering. Through the mud and the mire and the muck. Because under it all is a big, bright flowery dream that is just waiting to bloom.

Lessons in the Blooms

These lovely Camellia's are happily blooming all around my yard right now, simply oblivious to the fact that it's the dead of winter in most areas. These plants enjoy coming to life in the cooler months and showing the world their magnificent colors and textures. They use the warmer months to go dormant, saving their energies for now when they really need it. It seems counter intuitive to what we understand plants to be, but this is how they are most comfortable. And we nurture them where they are planted and how they best thrive.

Wouldn't it be great if we gave our fellow humans that functioned like this a little more understanding? Wouldn't it be great if we just accepted that some of don't learn the same way the rest do and flourish under different circumstance? Wouldn't it be awesome if we accepted people as they are and understood that that mostly, everyone is doing the best they can?

If it weren't for the camellias blooming now, the landscape would be bleak with dormant trees and brown turf everywhere. But these happily blooming plants are there adding color to our lives when we least expect it.

Wouldn't it be great if we could see this same lesson in our partner, neighbor, or child? How can you accept their blooms where they have left them for you to see and not just where you expect them to be?

Props

Today I was shooting a product here at my house that was screaming for these delicate babies  as props.

I have been shooting more and more propped, staged shots recently and I am LOVING it. I love setting a bit of a scene without making the shot appear to have been staged. I always want anything I shoot to look like someone just dropped the items in the photos as they appear. Those excellent photos you see in magazines - never like that. Those shots take multiple professionals and hours of labor to make the photographs appear the way they do.

The trick in the world of commercial (and often personal) photography is to make it all look like it just happened naturally and without effort. The real truth is it all takes work. So even though it all looks effortlessly perfect, the good looking stuff stuff always happens with a lot of work and elbow grease.

Isn't that really true about everything though? Haven't we been taught that the real stuff takes work and props and hours of preparation? So why do we still ruminate on other peoples lovely Facebook photos and their well-curated lives? Why is it that we feel the need to compete with something that has been staged and propped beyond comprehension? Those friends of yours at Disney World in their matching outfits....that just didn't happen magically. Take your filters off. There is a lot you may not be seeing. Tantrums. Threats. Bribery. A mom with PMS and a dad with a hangover. It all looks good in the photograph. But it's all propped the same as my commercial shoots always are. Outfits are bought ahead of time. Tickets were purchased well in advance. Travel plans coordinated months prior to the posting of the photo. And that photo - they knew exactly where they wanted it taken. It wasn't a happy accident. It rarely ever is.

So my advice is this: Take the lenses off. Remove the props. Things are the same on the other side of the screen for all of us. The struggle for perfection can be real for some people. But don't buy in. Because the real stuff is where you get to the juicy center part. That's where life is lived.

And those props...they are just there to soften those hard edges. 

Welcoming Spring.

Over the years, there have been many symbols that showed me the onset of Spring. Changing temperatures are a clear sign. But it's those visual pieces that stir me to remember the joy that Spring ushers in with her arrival.

When I was a child, the crocus blooms peeking up through the melting snow in our backyard were my first sign of the excitement of Spring's approach. In high school and in college, the budding azaleas made me pull out my shorts and search for the sunscreen.  And later, the lovely daffodil bulbs that carpeted my backyard in the south were clear signs of the arrival of the party of Springtime.

In recent years though, I have bid farewell to Winter with the onset of these gorgeous blooms. The Tulip Magnolia is a sweet smelling spring tree that buds in my yard each year. I love what the tree (and really all of Spring) represents: rebirth and regeneration and growth and perseverance. The cycle of life - carrying on as it should - in beauty and grace.

So today was the magical day. Gloomy and cloudy and overcast and drizzly. But this has been trying to happen for a week and today was finally the day. I am so glad. Because all this means to me now is that spring is sitting on my doorstep, waiting for me to welcome it inside.