Every metaphor in writing right now seems to circle back to the spring garden: new life, planting seeds, what it takes to bloom. My favorite is the familiar question - when a flower doesn’t grow, are you upset with the seed or the soil in which you planted it? But there’s another truth about gardens that gets less attention. When you plant a garden, it takes so. much. time. for anything to really fill in. Hostas don’t arrive lush and overflowing; they spend years quietly expanding underground. For a long while, your garden can look sparse, even a little disappointing, marked by open space and visible effort. And yet, if you plant too much too quickly, everything becomes crowded, tangled, overgrown - plants competing for light instead of thriving. This feels like the truest metaphor for curating a space of deep healing. You can look at a garden and say, man, in a few years this is going to be incredible. We understand that growth as something unfolding over time. ...
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Showing posts from May, 2026