Of course your life seems challenging right now. I've robbed you of water for the past thirty-two months. That is a really long time. That's like, oh, say, the age of my children (which I'd like to note, is such a bizarre coincidence). The day the office became a playroom and the basement became the office - or, the cave, as it is so lovingly referred to - you ceased to get water. Sure, I've thrown a splash your way (what's left in my water bottle) twice or three times (that's likely generous). Yet, somehow, you are still alive?
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| Judith, freshly watered. |
You are the only houseplant I have. There have been others. Well intentioned friends have put an orchid or two through this house in the last few years... "seriously, it's not that hard, just a few ice cubes when it's drying up and it'll be good!" False. Similar fates for two miniature rose plants. Both came and went.
I try, I really do. You must know that, given that you've stuck around. You have an ever thinning strand of hope left for me that I might, just might, remember to water you before you completely die out. I usually do. I mean, you're still here, right?
Hope. I started a blog about a year ago titled "bias towards hope." Unfortunately, just like your soil, it didn't get enough of my attention. But here I am, back at the blog, and here you are, still thirsty as hell. But seriously. The post was less than one month into this orange guy's reality TV show series ("term"?). There was little hope to be found, and yes, very little moisture in your soil. Here we are, almost one year later, and we are still trucking along though - yourself included. You are a CHAMP. A pioneer. One of the greats. You hang on, and you might just prove yourself worthy of a role on a reality TV show of your own. Now that, my dear, is what I call a reason to live.
But seriously, Judith. I didn't pay tens of thousands of dollars to bring two children into this world so they could watch me kill you. You have to hold on. I promise, I will do better. You will have enough water - just enough (because in my efforts to get an A+ I have learned the hard way that "too much" water is definitely a thing).
(No, no, Judith, this is about you, we can talk about that later.)
These days we are living in? Bananas. I've got two very impressionable little people and I'm committed to them having two models of strong moms. Strong moms who live full, whole, balanced lives they can be proud of. Two moms who strive to make the world a more love-filled and equitable place to live. I can't be that if I'm burned out. If I'm not watering you, there's a good chance I haven't paused to look out the window of my office since the last time I watered you. That's problematic, at best.
Hold on, Judith. You're a living, photosynthesizing reminder that we all can keep holding on, even if not by much some days. That's enough to live for, right?