Bloom Where You're Planted

how to spring back when you've spent too much time dreaming

Why is it so easy to dream about being someone else, someone calmer or more patient, maybe someone who made better choices and now has a bit more money tucked away? I know I am not alone in dreaming about that slightly bigger house out in the country, perhaps sitting on a healthy parcel of land, one that we can cultivate to produce garden big enough to feed an extended family. Do I dream about being a better writer already, someone who has already landed that book deal and is planning a multi-city book tour? Please.

Do you know what happens to me when I spend too much time dreaming? Lying around with that wistful longing for too long will sap me of all energy, all momentum. Inertia will suck at my bones like thick mud around a boot.

Dreams are vital. They make us human. We need them to imagine all the great works we are capable of. Without or dreams, would we even really know where we are going?

But we can overdose on just about everything, even life-essential water. And overdosing on our dreams will, ironically, keep us further away from actualizing them. We have to remember (I have to remember) that dreams require action.

Simple, yes? It would seem so, but for the question of how.

I find myself lingering in my dreams more, now that the world is (yet again!) in such dramatic upheaval. My Spotify cycles through Best of Enya, Hopeless Romantic Classical, and ambient rain soundscapes. I ration out my current events news so that my nervous system isn’t in perpetual disarray. It’s only natural that we turn inwards when surrounded by turmoil— it's a primal, protective human instinct! With the national political stage a serving as a fount of cruelty and embarrassment, many of us have focused more closely on our families and our local communities. We have wintered in fear and sadness, and I really want to normalize that. Our fears our valid! They are being actualized around us, and it is quite certain that more of our fears will come to exist in the coming days and years.

But I am tired. I am tired of watching my fears birth from the darkness to walk boldly in the daylight. I dream of peace and sweetness, food and housing, clean water and joy, for all of us. It is time to wake up. It is time to spring back.

Spring has always served as a mixed season for me. I relish in the chance to sink my hands into the rich black soil again, to plant out lettuces and peppers and cheerful marigolds. I stroll the farmer’s market in the gentle sunshine, basking in the warmth as we wait in line for the French waffle man to hand over our sugar-dusted purchases, the ones we will eat with tiny strawberries from the stall next door. It’s a time of renewal and hope.

But as someone whose ancestors hail from Scandinavia, Germany, and Ireland, my skin and soul quake at the advent of the blistering California summer sun. My body remembers the anxious dread of fire season. The small spring showers depart and I take a deep breath that I will hold until the late autumn rains return.

I can live with the both/and. The cognitive dissonance of two things being true at once. Spring is a time of awakening and joy, and spring is a doorway to a challenging season for me.

My dreams can soothe, and serve as inspiration for the future. My dreams can also trap me into submission, and maintain the status quo. Living in my dreams can keep me small.

So friends, it’s time to shake the icicles from my hair and stretch out my stiff limbs. I am stepping out of my cave of dreams to live here with you, in the world. It will rarely look tidy. It will rarely feel polished. But here we are, together. And here is what I am doing to spring into sustainable action:

Putting my Hands in the Dirt

For the last two years, we have belonged to a gem of a local CSA. And while we treasure our experiences there, it has meant I have neglected my own home garden. So we’ve ditched the CSA and reinvested in our garden boxes. We’ve filled them with soil. I’ve stuck my hands in the dirt, over and over, planting out the tenderest of chard, lettuce, and cucumber starts. I’ve overindulged on tomatoes and now will be shepherding eleven vine monsters come high summer.

Gardening serves so many purposes when trying to shake off the stupor of dream land living. It demonstrates to me that while thinking of the future is very necessary — Which pot is best for this plant? Where can I plant it where it will get the perfect amount of sunlight come July and August? What is a beneficial companion plant that can live alongside it, and which ones does it not want to be neighbors to?— once all the immediate questions have been answered, it is time for action. That plant needs room to stretch its roots out and grow. It needs its daily drink of water. It needs its home to be weeded and fertilized. Those needs represent actions on the part of the gardener, as we cannot dream our gardens into existence!

A short list of other purposes my garden serves: therapy spot, exercise haven (gardening requires physical exertion!), food giver, homeschool classroom, wildlife and insect preserve (except hornworms, who are gently executed on sight), and landscape enhancement. What else am I forgetting?

Keeping the Promises I Make to Myself

I realize this could be read as keeping the promises I make to myself a secret from others. That’s not what I mean! I mean that if I promise myself that I will move my body for 45 minutes today, I will keep that promise, even if the dishes or my favorite small humans clamor for my attention. My attention is not as valuable if I am not fully in my body. Thus, I keep my promise to move my body, and then others can be granted my full flowing attention. I promise I will take better care of my body. It sounds so simple! If I am hungry, I eat. If I am tired, I sleep.

If I promise myself I will touch my novel project every day, I will. I will either write 1000 fresh words, or I will considerably edit a bit I wrote last week. I will do that research I have been putting off, and synthesize what I learn into my research file in Scrivener. (And no, researching 1960s typewriters does not count!)

The point is, I keep my promises to myself. I prioritize my own human needs. I need tending, too. When I am resourced from my own action, I am less likely to sink or wallow.

A break from Zillow / Pinterest / IG

I love looking at beautiful pictures of other people’s kitchens and gardens. It has helped us design our own nearly-beautiful kitchen and garden. But the looking for too long leads to the longing, and the longing impedes our progress. I know many of you also have the habit of scrolling real estate listings to imagine yourself in a different house, in a different neighborhood, perhaps even in a different state or different corner of the world. For me, knowing how far I am from this reality, it is time to bloom where I am planted. I am planted in a county that is known for its natural beauty, in a neighborhood that is safe and convenient, and in a home that has been beloved by, *counts on fingers*, five generations of my spouse’s family. I have always been so grateful for this, and now it is time to put that gratitude on center stage and allow myself the freedom to exist fully, here. No more waiting for the perfect circumstances to bloom.

Gratitude

I have had various gratitude practices in my life, and I think those coincide with my happiest times, even though the circumstances would seem to dictate otherwise. Wise people have long said that gratitude is one of the keys to living a happy and content life — why is it always so hard for me to remember that?! For for Mother’s Day this year, I am getting one of those 5-Year, One-Line-a-Day journals, and every evening I am going to fill it with a list of things I am grateful for from the day. Reflections rooted in gratitude for what I already have keep the longing for more or different at bay.

I would love to hear from you how you spring back after times of excessive longing. What do you do to ground yourself in action, and how do you make it sustainable?

Thank you for reading, my friend. It’s good to see you again.

Love,

Kristina