If not for my green-thumbed mother, I could probably skate through life void of the realization that plants exist. To me, they are fixtures on medians that I try not to hit with my car. But to her, they are a refreshing reminder of the beauty and vitality of life.
The trip to Texas--between her and my grandmother--was full of pleas to look at trees off to the side of the road. I found myself looking up from my book, staring out the window for the customary 4 seconds, then going back to what I was doing (something important l'm sure like catching up on that one girl from high school's latest selfie). They talk about leafless trees like I would talk about ice cream; my grandma sees them as a picture to paint; I see them as the representation of winter-- and Grinch over here hates her some winter.
I've been asked about New Year's Resolutions. Here's where you think I'm going to transition from my flower-hating ways to an inspiring piece on stopping to smell the roses.
Nope.
Instead of resolutions, I resolve to take everything that's thrown at me in 2014 as it comes. Each triumph; each heartache; each disappointment will be acknowledged for what it is. I will adopt the courage and knowledge I need in that moment; and pray for the strength to face the uncertainty that is ahead.
I thought about dishing out the usual "lose 20 pounds," "Take up a new hobby," etc., but decided that it's much scarier to pledge yourself to events that aren't even on the horizon of your life (although losing 20 pounds is frightening and at this point would only be accomplished if I cut off multiple limbs).
But I want to look up-- from the distractions, from the negative voices, from the rush of life--and see everything. To give it a name. To acknowledge why it's there in my path. To pull out the thorns when there are thorns and not let it shadow the beauty of the landscape.
Here's to 2014. May I notice everything--even the trees.
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