I’m guilty. I suspect many of us are, as it’s often hard to see the flowers past the weeds. As a gardener, I focus on that weed – that thing marring my beautiful bed, my spread of comfort and projected perfection. If I can just remove that weed, taproot and all, the world will right itself and the blossoms will open their faces to the sun with happiness.
I had a traumatic childhood – welcome to the world – it has taken me a number of years to realize I don’t stand alone. But when, as a teenager, you’re elbow deep in unhappiness that permeates your soul, and then as an adult, you’re lugging that heavy baggage everywhere you go, you tend to concentrate on the ‘woe is me’. Oh sure, I looked outwards. Even today, as we drive down the road, I stare at each house we pass, wondering what’s happening inside. Does that window showcase a functioning family unit, filled with conversation and smiles? Or is there a small child in there, cowering behind the screaming and violence? But until I came of age where I really absorbed the news stories and read all the published memoirs of survival, I thought my experiences were some of the worst. I now realize they pale in comparison to many.
That’s not to discount my experience in any way; even in my 60’s I am still working on my demons. It’s been a long process. As I approached the world of paychecks, I focused on careers where I could ‘fix’ things. When I picked substance abuse counseling as a career in college, a very wise professor took me aside to discuss my direction. While certainly a worthy cause and a field ripe with need, he said, unless I could make peace with myself and my history, the suitcases I was carrying would never get unpacked. He had a point, but I knew I needed to be in a field where I could help others. I shifted focus first, to rehab counseling, then working with the hearing impaired, and finally, when dealing with school politics became overwhelming, to rescuing cats. By making the world a better place in however small a way, I would help to create happiness for others.
Now, in the last third of my life, I am working to focus on how much I have to be thankful for, and to appreciate the small things. I still get enjoyment in giving to others, realizing that at least half of my personal pleasure comes from making someone else happy. For the other half, I am learning to dance with my demons. While my ideal remains a pristine garden bed full of beautiful blooms, I’m working hard to take the weeds in stride.
