I was admiring my tiny urban jungle of sorts the other day, caught up in the thought of a flower's life purpose: to be beautiful. Of course this raises a couple of arguments ... true, some are edible, and they give honey bees something to do, certainly. They're still beautiful while they do their "jobs," and even blossoms found on the most robust bushes, or spidery vines appear to be suspended in a moment of effortless grace. What if we decide to make that our life's purpose, above all else, and before everything that ends up consuming our time, and becoming our lives we each make a conscious effort to live it beautifully, and commit to seeing each task through to completion with the grace of our decorative little pals? Unlike flowers we have a choice about how we do it, but why would we, and why do we do it any other way? Why are we afraid of being beautiful?
Why is it we seem to shun grace, or pass it, and a calm attitude off as if showing any of this to the world makes us in a way less driven, and lacking tenacity? How does running ourselves ragged, and living in perpetual stress, and chaos make us seem like more conscientious, and dependable workers? I think it's a hoax, we've tricked (albeit, cleverly) ourselves into believing a frantic system of living means we're really taking care of some serious business. I think I'll be taking a lesson from the gals on my patio. We all need reminders sometimes - this was definitely mine.