My students often ask me how I "grew myself up," a phrase that we use to describe the maturing process between emotional childhood and emotional adulthood. They want to know how to stop feeling helpless or dependent; how to release themselves from feeling inferior and insecure, and how to let go of childish entitlement issues.
My answer involves this garden story from a few years ago. Not because this is a story about what emotional adulthood looks like. On the contrary, this is a story about just how deep the crazy runs when we are acting like emotional children.
You may already know this by looking at me, but I'm going to set the record straight just in case... I ain't no Betty Crocker. I grew up in an era of Campbell's tomato soup, technicolored slices of American cheese, bologna sandwiches (white bread + mayo) and green Jell-O casseroles. We had Twinkies or Ding Dongs for dessert and we drank milk or Kool-Aid if we were thirsty. It was glorious. We only needed three tools for cooking: a can opener, a microwave and a spoon.
We have the choice to pick a different number. A number that creates ease in our life. A number that allows for grace. A number that lets us inhale and exhale deeply.
A number that might even bring us a sense of peace.
Often, that number is One.
It's the number that reminds us that we are connected to one another. That what happens to you, happens to me too. It's the number that reminds us that my heart and your heart and her heart all beat to their own rhythms while we spin around on this massive ball of stardust and sea mist.