Field Note #6: Why We Break Before We Bloom

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been observing something rather astonishing. There is a particularly healthy-looking dandelion growing in one of the empty pots in my garden, and it has been behaving in the most startling way. Now, you may well ask me how on earth a dandelion can behave. Isn't it just... there? Well, no. This one certainly isn't.

One morning I noticed that the luscious weed was finally getting ready to flower. It had a thick rosette of bright green, juicy leaves, and now several sturdy stems were shooting up into the air, each carrying a little bud. They looked lively and strong, and I was looking forward to seeing an array of bright little yellow sunshines smiling at me soon.

But my expectations never came to life.

The first stem grew so tall that it simply snapped under the weight of its own flower before it had the chance to open. The second one did exactly the same. The third managed to bloom for a couple of hours before it, too, folded sadly towards the ground. And the same thing kept happening over and over again: every new stem stretched a little higher than the last, and every one eventually collapsed beneath the weight it was trying to carry.

I found myself staring at this dandelion in complete dismay. Why did it have to keep growing taller when it was already perfectly capable of flowering exactly where it was? It had plenty of sunshine!

And yet, it behaved as though flowering only counted if it happened… a little higher up.

Watching it day after day, I began to wonder whether we aren't all rather similar.

How often do we tell ourselves that life will finally begin after something else happens? As soon as we get that job… As soon as we buy that house… As soon as we've learnt just a little bit more… As soon as the children start school. As soon as we get married. As soon as we retire. The list is endless.

Now, there is nothing wrong with wanting to grow and nothing wrong with reaching for something bigger. The problem begins when we quietly convince ourselves that we cannot bloom until we get there.

So we keep stretching and postpone publishing that book. Postpone opening that business. Making the phone call and apologizing. Postpone becoming the person we're already capable of being. While, somewhere along the way, we become exhausted trying to reach a version of ourselves that always seems to exist just a little further away…

Perhaps self-sabotage isn't always dramatic? Perhaps it sometimes looks like growing just a little taller than necessary?

A few days later, my stubborn little dandelion finally managed to flower. Not on its tallest stem, but on the one that stayed just short enough to support its own weight. No need to mention that I was absurdly proud of the weed. 

And so, maybe flourishing has very little to do with reaching higher? Maybe it begins the moment we stop believing that the sunlight is somewhere else?..