I woke this morning and realized that one of my avocados was getting dangerously ripe. I just cut off a small portion of the top and ate straight from the rind. When I got to the pit, I pulled it out, washed it off, then placed it with the others I have sitting next to my sink. I already have planted one, and there are only so many that you can realistically grow at any given point, so I just collect them. It suddenly struck me – I can’t throw them away!
I find it so hard to throw away the seeds or pits from any fruit. I do the same thing with Medjool dates (my personal weakness). The seeds just represent life, and it seems so utterly wasteful to toss them out.
The problem, though, is unless you live in an area where the plant will thrive, it sits as a simple lump, unused and discarded. It is seething with the potential to blossom into an amazing tree that could feed thousands, yet they sit on my sink glistening in the morning sun.
This is the thought that ran through my mind this morning and prompted me to sit at my computer. We, like seeds, are bursting with potential at any given moment. We have all of these natural abilities and innate talents just waiting for the proper circumstance when we can bloom.
From the viewpoint of a gardener, you take responsibility for the life that you bring and cultivate it for optimal growth and health. These are the chosen seeds that are actually nurtured to health, though. How many are just cast to the winds, discarded in the rubbish bin or tossed from the window? Some survive; many do not.
I cannot help but make the connection to children, but also my own potential. How many times have I had a moment of inspiration that seemed so shining with opportunity, then just as quickly, it slipped away because the timing was wrong or I was distracted?
I think I have finally, also discovered my problem with Charleston as my home. I may have been born here, but I do not belong here. Whether I ever did, who knows? The fact is, I have traveled too far and experienced too many other places, to ever thrive here. I feel like an outsider in my own hometown.
Like a seed, I require the optimal conditions to bloom. I suppose I am more like a houseplant that travels with my caretaker. When I am in the right conditions, I blossom furiously, but then I am moved, and my leaves droop and I struggle to survive.
I feel a pull to more than this. My heart sings to me of foreign shores and unfamiliar sights. I am beckoned to a home that I do not know. It is like a hazy vision in a dream; a shimmering picture of my heaven. I must listen to my intuition in preparation.
I am learning languages that make my tongue twist in curious ways. I am forced to restructure the English grammar I so proudly have mastered into new sentence formats. My brain aches with my lessons, yet I feel the connections happening. I am excited when I recognize what is being said in German, or French, or Spanish. I am eager to learn Russian next. I want to meet foreign-born people so I can converse with and learn from them.
Perhaps I am like the tree that goes dormant in the Winter. I am waiting for Spring again so I can grow. I do not yet know where, but I do know that this Spring will not be in Charleston for me.