The last thing I remember doing with my whole heart might have been weeding in the garden last weekend. This is the garden we have ignored for the last two years, the garden we are ashamed our neighbors have to see from their living room window.
We weeded the shit out of that garden.
We dug deep, into the roots that had created an entire universe of capillaries, that threaded their way under the cement. We found the earthworms and the rolly pollys, we discovered how deep the bamboo can go and that their roots are called rhizomes and they are near impossible to kill. We found fresh dark earth that we turned and cleared of old rusty screws and pieces of plastic, coins and seashells. We pulled and pulled until our backs hurt and the green bin was completely full.
We picked out a collection of native plants and succulents at the nursery down the street, plants that don’t need much tending but ones that caught our eye. Being new at this, were so happy when the cashier complimented us on the array of plants we chose.
And I see the parallel here.
The way that Matt and I are doing this together.
This digging, this clearing, this tending, this deciding what to plant anew, has everything to do with us.
That doing this with our whole hearts, that putting our attention on this thing we have been ignoring for so long, is as powerful as a therapy session, or a hot date or an epiphany.
That our toiling amounted to so much more than we can imagine.