In the middle of a mid-life crisis, I related my life to a garden. I thought about how my life has grown some beautiful incredible awe-inspired flowers… as well as some incredible, tall, deep rooted weeds.
And when I cut the flowers and display them, they are worth the effort. When I have to pull the weeds out, it’s sweaty hard work that I hate, scraping, scratching, bleeding, blistering and blister healing… and in the end it’s worth the effort.
When I forget to weed, it takes over and even I can’t see the flowers. So I weed, as hard as it is. I cut and display the pretties, and accept the praises while I nurture my weeding wounds.
And I fertilize… purposely spreading out the shit, stepping in it, getting it under my nails and the smell of it in my hair. Because the fertilizer makes the pretties. I like the pretties.
No shit, no pretties. No shit, small weeds.
Lotsa shit, lotsa pretties… and lotsa big weeds.
