Why bother

Flowers and weeds, roses and thorns

I’ve been in a “why bother” kind-of-a-mood this week.

I even thought: “Why bother writing this newsletter?” I guess I bother because it’s part of my writing practice for now, whether or not anyone reads it. I wanted to try this platform, and it’s a bit too early to give up. I may decide at some point to focus my writing practice elsewhere. That’s okay too.

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Today I worked in the garden a little bit. I hurt my back at work on Wednesday, and I’m not able to do much. I pulled a few weeds and cut back some overgrown plants.

I lamented the tenacious Japanese anemone that I wish I’d never transplanted and the pervasive bindweed that I can’t seem to get rid of no matter what. Those interlopers choke out other plants. I lamented the little ant hills all along the sidewalk. I’ve tried lots of methods to eradicate those jerks, but they’re back every year. And they bite. I lamented the garlic mustard growing around the base of my lilac bush.

I celebrated the soon-to-open blooms on that same lilac bush. I celebrated the bleeding heart and the creeping phlox and the buds on the peony plant and the height of the clematis vine.

Now I’m thinking of Every Rose Has Its Thorn by Poison, which is just the sort of melancholy song I adore.

Here’s the thing. Every rose does have its thorn. I mean, right? In my first newsletter, inspired by a quote from Pema Chodron, I wrote: “I contemplate and write about living authentically and fully through grief, relief, misery, joy. The magical moments and the messy ones. All of it. And everything in between.”

Maybe I’m feeling the messy moments a bit more acutely right now. Maybe I made the best decision I could at the time, and still I can wonder. Maybe (often, I imagine) things are not as they seem. Change can be necessary, good, bad, hard, refreshing, misguided, naïve, and any other thing. Every rose has its thorn. Every thorn has its rose.

The point isn’t that there’s a reason for everything. I despise that concept. There’s absolutely no reason (or silver lining) in mass shootings and racism and wildfires or any other tragedy or evil. A hard no on that.

It’s more just that we have to feel the feelings. All of them. To be clear, I’m not looking for advice about bindweed or my bad back or 1980s rock ballads or tough decisions or anything really. I’m just feeling the feelings and writing about them. I hope you’re feeling your feelings too. It’s through feeling them, and acknowledging them, that we can move on. All are valid. The roses and the thorns. Thanks for listening.

With gratitude,

Mary