I always wanted a wildflower garden.
Each spring, I’d walk right up to the packets of seeds on display in Home Depot.
I’d look at the colorful images of the purple Coneflower or the bold Black-Eyed Susans and imagine myself romping out to my lush flower garden and clipping blossoms to display in my favorite vase.
But then I’d sigh and walk past the seeds to aisle six in search of the lightbulbs I needed for the fixture in my bathroom.
Planting seeds required me to wait.
I didn’t want to spend all of that energy creating the perfect growing conditions only to wait five months, or maybe longer before I saw results.
I didn’t have the patience—I wanted flowers immediately.
Besides:
What if I moved?
What if I died?
What if the dog dug them up?
I’d be frustrated, disappointed and sad—I didn’t want to set myself up for those feelings.
As we are faced with difficult decisions every day, this theme feels magnified.
We want a guarantee. We want to know when, where, and how. And because we don’t know what the end results will look like, we opt out.
It’s not the right time.
It will take too long.
I don’t know for sure.
Which is another way of saying:
Fear is more predictable than hope.
Fear is more familiar than hope.
Fear is more comfortable than hope.
The precise reason why I remained perfectly in control of not planting the seeds.
But in choosing fear, I never cultivated patience. I never marveled at the transformation.
I never celebrated the joy of the journey. I never got to see the flowers.
Choosing hope necessitates a commitment to put aside your old ways of being. It takes practice, discipline, and consistency.
But most of all, it requires the most powerful act of courage imaginable.
Let’s do this together.
Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can’t lose.
