My Grandma Abernathy – who was the model of patience, resilience, and kindness – had a go-to phrase: “Bloom where you’re planted.” For most of my life I not only respected her belief in that phrase, but I actually held it up as a model for living. Until the day I realized my job and lifestyle were killing me. I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth in the unrealistic hopes that I might bloom again, in a situation where I had been transplanted into rotten, acidic soil, and could no longer thrive.
I hadn’t thought about her phrase until last week when I looked outside my kitchen window and saw a glorious sunflower in full bloom in my backyard. This sunflower was a gift from my son’s school back in May, when he graduated from elementary school with the thought that we could watch it grow and thrive, just like our kids.
The tiny sprout sat on our kitchen counter for a few days until I gave it a home in a little terra cotta pot and nestled it on our kitchen windowsill where it would get full sun. Every week I fed it a little water, and watched it grow taller throughout the summer months.
In August, I discovered it had reached the top of the very tall window. Pretty neat, expect for one thing. All its leaves were dying. It was simply a tall, thin stalk with little-to-no additional growth. Sad.
In a last-ditch effort to save this poor plant, it was transplanted to a vacant spot in our garden. It seemed like a terrific spot, carved out for a future rose bush, which meant plenty of extra space for growth. It was also on the sprinkler line, which ensured lots of morning water, and full day sun.
A week after planting the nearly dead stalk I noticed what looked like a small tree growing in the spot where we had planted the sunflower. Wait. That tree WAS the sunflower. Every day it reached higher for the sun, and its stalk grew healthy, green, sturdy and thick.
By the end of August there a large bud at the very top of the stalk – the hope of a flower! And a week later there were three more buds. The first flower bloomed, the size of a large dinner plate and yellow as the sun itself, much to our delight and amazement. As of this writing there are seven more flowers in full bloom.
Which brings me back to why I’m now challenging my grandmother’s tried-and-true phrase, “Bloom where you’re planted.” I would like to revise that to, “Plant yourself where you will bloom and thrive.” All that little stalk needed was space and nourishment to stretch and breathe, to transform into what it was intended to be.
Back to my own story: I left my toxic job, took a deep cleansing breath (OK, lots of them), and started my own company. Today I’m in the best mental, physical, and spiritual health of my life. I’m finally blooming. How many of you might need to be transplanted in order to thrive again?
