The gardening journey

Waking to a Sunday morning. The sound of the ceiling fan whirling mixes with the sound of the coffee pot pumping. The smell of coffee wafts  through the house. I am watching out my bedroom window as the various shades of green come into focus, how the shapes and hues of leaves change as dawn arrives from night, as day slowly awakens.

The past few days have found me filled with discontent. It has been twenty one days since I stopped smoking, and yesterday I gave in to my insane mind and had one. It was horrible,  and tasted disgusting and yet having one somehow quieted that part of my brain that seemed to be causing a raucous.

Also adding to my level of discontent has been a newfound interaction that was of a potential romantic slant. I met a nice guy, we had coffee, went for a walk, had dinner, had brunch with his friends. All seemed to be going well. I was honest with my path- of not drinking or drugging. He indicated a few different ways that he was leaving his party boy days behind him. I enjoyed our conversations, and found it interesting to be interacting with someone so involved with TV, fashion, and music.

As I have many friends in recovery that have relationships with people who are not on this journey, I am not overly concerned when I meet someone who drinks. As the week progressed, the drunk interactions began. A thirty eight minute phone conversation left me frazzled, confused and a little resentful. While I desire to show love and tolerance, I also must practice self care and not accept every invitation I receive to engage with crazy. Needless to say, engaging with inebriation and codependent behaviour reminds me of a previous version of myself, I guess. I am thankful to be able to recognize the transition between then, and now- here versus there, and I am thankful for the reminder to continue forward.

This interaction and the feelings experienced reminds of another time and place. I am thinking of the garden I began planting in West Asheville. In the spring of 2008 I was struggling, I was dazed and confused, hurt and lonely, scared and remorseful, resentful and fear-filled. I began digging. With every feeling that made me uncomfortable, I dug. I amended the soil. I expanded the beds. What started as bare grass, became a swath of tilled soil, a path, a ribbon of planted, flowering loveliness. I found peace in that creation of sacred space. 

So fast forward a few years to the spring of 2014. I am feeling a few of those same feelings. I am in a new place, living with a friend, learning about myself and interacting with others. The reminder to work on my garden is timely- to create and nurture the sacred space, to tend to it and myself.  Thank you universe for the reminders.