I have arrived back to the world of the blog after extracting heaps of self-inflicted stress from my life. After allowing for literally zero stimulation and no liveliness to even prick at or touch me in any way, I moved to Washington, DC–into a place that was strewn with death, weeds, poison, and darkness. A first-time renters fantasy. See below:
The responsibility I felt almost immediately toward land that was mine only temporarily was profound. I do this thing where I can’t claim most of what’s inside me. I’m pretty terrible at it. It’s one thing to be wildly free spirited, but it’s another to be wildly a mess. I have trouble claiming myself, the wild mess. But, I easily establish ownership over things outside myself. You may be asking yourself: “Is Leah really edging closer and closer toward exacting a cheesy garden makeover::inner-self makeover analogy? Maybe I am. OR maybe I purged a near trash pit and turned out a kick ass garden, while simultaneously ridding myself of a (metaphorical) poison that had me burrowed away, completely ashamed of my inability to land a dream job and represent semi-unattainable ideals to a world I was mindlessly cartwheeling to impress. The result: I turned out a pretty kick ass garden.
Time to get real: In all truthfulness, when I am a sweaty mess, racking composted soil in methodically designed horizontal lines along my yard, I am creating. Creating is a concept that is worlds apart from that of achieving. In the past month since I’ve been here, I’ve met artists, real artists, who are crafting and practicing, sometimes even playing and experimenting. They have shown me a beauty I forgot about: the beauty of persistence and self-discipline for the purpose of pleasing oneself, not others.
My kick ass garden grows awesome plants. It creates and makes. I do that too. Me and my garden make each of our existences. We are resurrecting.