I use this commentary quite a bit as therapy. If I’m trying to work something out, I’ve learned that writing about it then speaking it helps in some way or another. One of the most recent themes that regular listeners may recognize is this transition into whatever the next chapter of my life will be. Every morning, the mirror reflects the changes taking place on the outside, and I wonder when the change will impact the inner parts of me.
My mother used to get up in the mornings, get her coffee, and, in her robe, go out onto her back patio and check on her plants. I remember her bending over them and touching some of them and then talking to them a bit. Maybe she’d clip a flower whose bloom had faded and offer some encouragement to the plant to send her another flower. I thought it was ridiculous up until a few weeks ago when I realized I was now doing it, too. A coffee, a step onto the patio, a visit to my orchids that, people tell me, should be inside but sure appear happier outside. My one-year-old potted lemon tree is putting on so much growth but, as yet, no lemons. I give it a short motivational speech: "You can do it lemon tree. I see your potential. You have what it takes. You’re a good-looking tree, and I can tell your lemons will be great. Focus! Stay the course. I’ll take care of you."
Then on to the staghorn fern that hangs at the corner of the patio that’s doing so well. I gently touch the fronds and compliment the fern on such strong and green shoots.
My last visit every morning is to my oncidium orchid, better known as a dancing lady orchid. That orchid and I have been together a long time. It grows well. It appears happy. I changed its soil earlier in the spring and put it back in the same pot and gave it a good bit of orchid food. It quickly put on big new leaves, and it continues to show, from all I can see on the outside, that it’s happy, but it hasn’t bloomed in a long while. I check every day for a tiny bloom spike to show me that it’s truly happy and wants to express its joy, but nothing.
And I say to it, “You have everything I know how to give you for you to thrive, but it’s like you’re waiting for something more, some big outside force to identify that there’s something inside of you that you need to take that next big leap forward to express your joy. You’re waiting for something to excite you and tease you into blooming again - for you to give the world what you know is in there, aching to come out and share, but you’re not sure what’s in there and how to get it out. When you were younger and smaller, getting you to bloom wasn’t hard. Today, though, I can see that inside you, something's missing.” And I take my coffee back inside and sit quietly for a while, realizing what I’ve just said.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.
