Intentional Curiosity, Part Two: Bouquets on the Windowsill, Sylvia Plath, A Blue Dress, Plums, and Other Things I’ve Overlooked While Glamorizing the Hustle
On the day that the sun sends streams through the windows and all I can do is wait for something, anything, to pass, I turn the blooming weeds in the backyard to bouquets on the windowsill. I measure out dried herbs and create makeshift blends of medicinal teas, eventually straining and admiring as those same streams of sunlight dance through its foggy substance.
I tend to my indoor plants as well.
Snipping and removing dying leaves, making room for the bright green leaves to come through.
And between doing so, I collect the bundles of lilies I have scattered around the house, trimming their stems and changing the vase water with the hope that I’ll get to enjoy their resilience and sweet aroma a little longer. I swear it lifts my mood.
Once I’ve tidied up the house, I move to the porch, where I watch clouds rolling through, occasionally cutting off the heads of roses so they can hopefully bloom even bigger and brighter next year. Whilst doing so, I admire the clovers that seem to have taken over the lawn, noticing how I’ve never really thought of them as weeds, my dog trampling over this thought as he sniffs and roams. Sniffs and roams.
I read a book called Mary Ventura and The Ninth Kingdom, a story recently uncovered—written by the legend of an author, creator, and poet, Sylvia Plath (though long gone, I like to think of her as a dear friend. Weird? Maybe so. But I swear she gets me).
Once devoured, I close it’s now slightly bent pages, a sure sign that a book as been at least looked at, and make my way to the computer, wondering if I feel ready to dive in yet.
I question my work.
What I do.
How often I do it.
What I don’t do.
How often I don’t do it.
Even as I write this, I hesitate, glancing down at my planner with echoes of, “shouldn't I be doing something else? Something more?”
Maybe so and probably yes, but isn’t it always so?
Logically, it has to be, but when my thoughts spin and self-made expectations suffocate, I reach for more unread books on the stool next to my pink chair. After resisting, I find myself kneeling at the newly made flower beds, with the lilies, lavender, and a blueberry bush all waiting to be planted.
I want to wear my sunhat, the one all torn and loved from adventures on the river and in the garden—oh the places it’s seen and the sun it has felt.
I put on the little blue dress and wonder how a tree can make plums so sweet and a flower can have pedals so pink. I hope to always be in awe of little treasures such as this.
Maybe it’s silly and maybe I could be doing or thinking about other things.
“Productive” and more “important” things.
Maybe so and probably yes, but if I can’t take the time to observe and simply be amazed by it all. To not do or prove anything. To write about plums, flowers, and little blue dresses, I’m not sure I’ll ever be given a better opportunity to feel like enough.
Just as is.