I love the phrase Bloom Where You’re Planted. Last week, as I was taking my daily scroll through my Facebook news feed I came across this phrase. One of my friends was congratulating her daughter on blooming where she was planted, after having to move from a town she loved right before starting middle school last year. The picture showed a smiling young lady winning an award at her new school. Not only had she bloomed where she was planted, she was thriving.
When I saw that picture of my friend’s daughter, I thought about all of the times I had bloomed where I was planted. I did not go to the same school two years in a row until I reached 4th Grade. I was constantly making new friends and trying to fit in, but in the end, I always found new friends. Usually lots of them. I find my ability to do this fascinating, considering I am an introvert by nature. Sometimes it took quite a bit of watering to get me to sprout, but eventually, the fear dissipated and I came out the other side of it smiling. Always smiling. I was born to bloom, regardless of the chaos happening around me. Even as I struggled with infertility for years, I was always cognizant of the fact that I had my life and my health. I had choices, the desire to succeed and ways to bloom despite the hand I was currently holding.
I’m a big fan of folding and getting some new cards.
Some of us are born with the will to thrive despite what life throws us, and some of us … come from a completely different sort of cloth.
Some people never bloom anywhere — they always have an excuse for why their life generally sucks. They are always the victim in the story, and the story never freaking ends. Considering how many cancer patients I know who bloom where they are planted, someone complaining about their stubbed-toe life can be mildly irritating, to say the least.
I call these people a human succubus, which makes my husband laugh. Technically, a succubus is a female demon who enters dreams and seduces men … but I have taken the liberty to expand the definition: A human succubus just sucks the life out of you every time you’re around them.
They seem to be drawn to me.
I’m not talking about good friends going through a rough patch who need to bend your ear for support and help. I’m talking about people who reside permanently in Rough Patch … often of their own making. They never come up for air. They don’t notice when you’re with them that you never speak. You don’t speak because they don’t let you. They don’t ask anything about your life. They’re not interested. They’re not curious. By the time your time with them is over, you feel like you should be charging them for the therapy session they just sucked out of you without warning. (I will neither confirm nor deny that I have had such a lunch recently … )
Why I am contemplating this on a random Monday evening in May?
I have this unwavering attachment to finding our forever home and raising all of our children in it. I don’t want them to have to continually plant and bloom. I am sure, being children of bloomers, they will be able to handle it; but knowing how unsettling it can be — I don’t want them to plant and bloom and plant and bloom anymore than they have to.
But as my husband always says … We have to make the right move.
And sometimes the right move is more than one move. That’s just part of life. Especially in today’s world where people do not stay at the same job forever. Hence that wonderful cliche … home is where the heart is.
Tell that to a kid leaving all of their friends behind and see how far it gets you. Cliches are good for greeting cards and wall hangings, but often get lost in translation when it comes to applying them to life.
Moving is less daunting for me because I have done it so many times throughout my life. I have lived in every time zone in North America. My husband was born in Los Angeles and has never lived anywhere else except Sacramento. Always in California. One time zone. The thought of uprooting and planting and blooming is a much larger undertaking for him than it is for me. I have no doubt he will bloom when he chooses to plant, because that’s the kind of guy he is … he makes friends wherever he goes.
He’s always weighing all the options, while I have a moving truck ordered. We make a great pair. He keeps me from carting us off to the wrong pasture and I remind him daily we need to find a pasture.
Today begins the 17th week of my pregnancy. I am thinking ahead to the coming weeks and how I am going to theme the blog for this new life unfolding before me. The masthead of the blog has been redesigned, and you can see it on the Terrilox Facebook Page. I’m really happy with it and can’t wait for the full design. Ultimately, I have decided not to over-think or over-structure the blog (which is my over-thinking and over-structuring nature) and just write every day. The best way for something to unfold organically and grow — which I learned from completing 60+ Days On the Mat — is to just do it.
I’ve never had a baby before, much less twins. I’ve certainly never raised boys. I’ve never worked from home with babies.
I’ve never done anything I am doing right now.
So the truth is, there is going to be a host of things to write about. Some days will be more interesting to you than others, but I hope along the way this little blog will continue to grow and you’ll keep stopping by when you can. I have lots of dreams for it, but right now I just have to keep planting and blooming. We all do.
Tomorrow I’ll be taking the weekly pregnancy picture and writing about the first Mother’s Day I haven’t spent crying quietly in a long time … and our new kitty, Raylan. He’s no Boomer, but he’s pretty cute.
In the meantime, I hope you continue to bloom wherever you are currently planted. I most definitely am … wait until you see the belly this week!