Hello Daffodil

Every year, I am thrilled (and then appalled) that the daffodils begin to emerge this early in the season.

Every year, I tell them to head back underground and wait for warmer weather. At home, sometimes I kick up some leaves around them, in a feeble attempt to protect them from the elements…which I know will wreak havoc. Not unusual for us to get inches of snow in April.

But if the daffodils have taught me anything it’s that some things just have to happen in their own good time. If I want flowers in April or May, the plant has to start growing in March…long before I’m ready.

And it has taken me my whole life to learn this next lesson: I don’t control everything.

In fact, the older I get, the more I recognize that I don’t control much at all. Maybe nothing. Oh sure, I can get my hair cut. I can watch what I eat. I can be mindful about fast fashion and the plastics I allow into my life.

But does that control anything? It certainly makes me feel like I am in control of something. But truly, if a heart attack is on its way, or a plane crash occurs, or the end of democracy is imminent, or the sky is falling…honestly, am I in charge of any of it? Can I control anything at all?

In these crone years, a transition occurs, almost a miracle. We (all women) learn that we no longer have to do it all. Maybe it’s our turn to take a back seat and play the role of observer/seeker. Maybe even take care of our own mental health and physical bodies.

Tolstoy wrote in War and Peace about each person living two lives: one as the product of their own actions, and the other as part of the life of the swarm. The swarm, of course, is the life that is thrust upon us by the age we live in, the history we stand in, and the actions of others around us.

Leaders are often swept into the swarm, deserving or not of their leadership role. Tolstoy was referring to Napoleon–a small, small man who thought he could take over the world. Circumstances and regional events swept him into his role, but I’m sure he thought it was all his own resourcefulness and actions.

He met cold reality in Russia (no pun intended).

So these days, I relate more to a fragile daffodil shoot than to any so-called heroes. The goal is to bloom in the place I find myself in, and I need the sun and the rain and the fertile soil to do it. And anything can come along and disrupt that. It always could.

Today, surviving, and even eventually blooming, seems more precious than ever.

Author’s note: WordPress offered me an AI version of this post after it was written. Let the record show that I wrote this myself–no AI. I took the photo myself. The thoughts are my own.

The daffodil exists in real life.