Deep beneath the crust of earth and ice, I am lying in wait.
Contrary to popular belief, lying in wait is an active process. It is different than the indifference of lethargy. It is different than the directionless energy of telling myself I should be grateful for whatever comes my way.
Concealing myself and readying myself to attack by surprise, gestating the possibility of a new incarnation of myself.
When I am lying in wait, I am readying myself for the next beginning. I am active in hold my reasons for sprouting in a faith. Faith that that breaking through to the surface will be worth the effort. Faith that there are revisions of becoming that are greater than myself in this moment. Faith that the Spring will come, the rain will fall.
Faith that my environment is stacked for my survival, that my becoming is supported by something greater than myself.
There were so many years of waiting. So many years where I held my breath, waiting to be better, thinner, smarter, prettier, easier to love. There were so many years when my entire focus lent itself to shaving off essential components of my identity so that I might become more easily palatable.
In those years I told myself daily – you are undeserving of the life you want. It will come for you when you’ve put in your time, when you’ve made the necessary adaptations. When you’ve cracked the code. When the epiphany arrived and you were suddenly able to be polite or don your white gloves with elegance.
When you stopped falling up the stairs. Or spilling coffee on your favorite white scarf. Or speaking out of turn because you just can’t keep yourself quiet a single second longer. When you easily slide into a size six. Or write the book without shedding a tear or sweating anxiously when you feel the overwhelming urge to scroll through your Facebook feed instead.
You will deserve the life you want when you’ve perfected yourself.
But years later I know that this life isn’t made for perfection. It is made for surrender, the continued act of softening to what is. Softening to what you love. Softening to the fact that you can be made for it and it can be hard, and that is ok.
I am the woman who falls up the stairs, tripping over here feet because talking and walking is too much to keep track of most of the time.
I am the woman who sobs through every new iteration, stomping my boots as I struggle to keep up with myself.
I am the messiness of coffee spilled on precious fabric and the mastermind behind enormous projects launched to great success.
I am not particularly graceful. But, I am recognizable to myself.
Sometimes, sprouting occurs even in the most inhospitable environments.
I was born on March 8th and my father reports that there were crocuses at his feet.
Today, it is March 2nd and I know that there are crocuses below the crust of snow and ice that are emboldening themselves to sprout despite the desperate cold and legacy of a Winter that will not end.
We know the adage, the only way forward is through.
And yet, we resist the “through.” We cue up season after season on Netflix. We pour ourselves another drink. We yell at someone. We get upset about nothing in particular. We eat a bag of potato chips.
We do our best to remain directionless, so that we might avoid the pain that we believe that transformation requires.
But, what if you weren’t afraid of the depth of your emotions?
What if blooming wasn’t a question – but a soul imperative?
What if you took a deep breath and decided that you weren’t willing to wait anymore?
So.
Here we are.
Lying in wait.
Sometimes, sprouting occurs even when the only person who believes in us… is us.
There is no one better to judge our genetic make-up or the depth that we are willing to go. There is no one to see the fiery insides of our spirits. We are privy to our own inner fortitude. We, alone, know the full range of what we are capable of.
But, the trick here is to allow ourselves the process of becoming prematurely. Like the crocuses we may bloom impossibly early. We may submit ourselves to the truth that Winter is not, in fact, over. We may curl back up, licking our wounds and cursing ourselves for jumping the process.
Sometimes, we sprout for sprouting’s sake.
Because it feels good to bloom. Because it feels good to break through the ice and dredge of self-imposed boundaries, for no reason other than to feel something different than the soft, dark coil of waiting to be ready.
Because you alone know what you are capable of.
Because you want more for yourself and you aren’t willing to put your life on hold any longer.
Everywhere around me, I see women cracking through ice, blooming like crocuses in the Spring.
I asked my tribe about blooming so that I might share it with you. I asked them to crawl inside their why so that I might bring their brilliance to light here.
In their words…
…I am fertile ground ready to accept and nurture the seeds of the enchanted garden that resides within this vessel of my soul. I am in full bloom when I can erupt from my solitary beauty sleep, enriched with the wisdom from generations before and the tending of my soil with nutrients of the goddesses that surround me today, preening me for the day when I am ready to meet the sun with unfurled petals of my own unique glorious colors for the world to view in awe.
…Being in full bloom is about honoring all parts of the process: the deep grounding, in the dark silence, the blooming, the reaping, the celebration. In full bloom is about balance, which can only come when I can recognize my own responses to this process.
…It is the feeling of a Gardner who is enjoying the fruits of her labor, seeing the impact she has made, feeling full of pride. But also – knowing that it took a lot of “dirty work,” persistence, and a whole lot of faith.
…For me, it is allowing and honoring the harvest, the enfolding, the blossoming and the becoming through trust and delight. It is about letting go and letting flow and staying out of my own way.
…I is about honoring the rhythm inherent in life. No longer denying the impact of the natural world on my own internal landscape but instead, claiming it, leaning into it, knowing it and myself deeply so that I may show up as the person I believe myself to be. I bloom when I stop resisting what is already contained within my cells and allow myself to be cradled in my own truth.
…Being in full bloom represents stepping into my own unique journey as a woman. Giving myself space to breathe, be, awaken, restore, connect and express who I was created to be.
….It is where I gain solid footing on uneven ground. It is where I nurture my curiosity and trust while honoring who I am in this moment.
In my words…
I bloom when I claim this space as sovereign territory, sacred land, and tend to myself with a deep sense of reverence.
I bloom in truth and messiness.
I bloom when I am ready, but my readiness is in the tug of my own evolutionary path – not the illusion of doing it all perfectly.
I bloom in specificity.
My blooming is an active process.