“Bloom where you’re planted.”
I can still see the poster. Standard blue-sky, sunshine background while in the fore, a yellow daylily, red tulip, or purple iris.
I never bought the philosophy or the poster but I never forgot the words. From decade to decade they revisit, and this past week, I was glad to see them.
I almost moved into a “tiny house” community. Almost. Those houses are incredible, and one day may be for me but it wasn’t this past Tuesday.
Still, there was a kind of energy in the air, and I was caught up in it.
These tiny house communities are designed around the existing environment, including trees, and built with materials not so foreign to the environment. Sustainability.
They have hydroponic gardens, community centers, and even their own elected mayor. It is about community, always, giving to each other without taking so much from the earth–creating connection–a completely different model for living.
How not to get swept up in such energy? And it was all inadvertent. I went to visit the community to see what it was all about, and 90 minutes later, it looked like I would live there.
Well, the not-very-short answer is something I have come to know as a “memo from the Universe.” That moment when a crackling kind of energy opens me to a new lens. Nothing looks as it once did. Possibilities are everywhere, even endless.
Some call that giddiness but even the director of the tiny house community commented on the presence of divine providence. More than once.
So, I was not the only one to get the memo.
I have never not learned from these messages but just what they offer is often revealed after-the-fact. Awareness has many veils. It takes a while to get to the meaning of these memos, which is what I forget. Every. Single. Time.
For me to move would mean selling everything I own, essentially. I would keep (some of) my clothes, electronics, a few pieces of art. These tiny houses are fully furnished, right down to linens and dishes. No real room for books. Or my Tempur-Pedic bed.
Incredibly, none of that bothered me–too much. Well, the bed…. It was not the letting go of stuff, it was how I would have to do it. I was increasing my carbon footprint in order to live more environmentally friendly.
The irony was not lost on me. It nagged. I dismissed it as “renter’s remorse.” But what I heard was “bloom where you’re planted.”
Eight years ago, I arrived at my apartment complex with little-to-no furniture, way too many books, some art, a set of dishes and pans, and a laptop. That’s what was left of middle age. Starting over.
In the “tiny house” community people are beginning again, some homeless, and some as close to it as they ever want to be. I remember. That isn’t who I am now.
What I was really seeking from the tiny houses was community, as if a house is what makes connection. Community is the drama of living, as messy and hard as that is, and it begins at home, which I already had.
I did not need to move to the other side of town.
It was about time I offered more than just being a tenant. So, I did. I met with the apartment complex manager and leasing director, and we had a wonderful conversation about creating connection.
We planted some seeds. Too soon to know about the bloom.