Here’s a story for you.
Yesterday, walking the dog, we explored a grassy laneway between two houses, and we came across the most beautiful scotch thistles.
Weeds. Truly pretty weeds.
My husband waited while I found a way to break off the thistles, then he made an invention with dog bags so I could carry the weeds home. It worked perfectly: a dog bag ‘strap’ to carry prickly thistles for over a kilometre back to the house.
That’s him. That’s me.
Ingenious helper. Gatherer of beautiful weeds.
My son has a Thoreau quote by his desk, and it says this:
So many people read that Thoreau quote and assume they haven’t done their thing.
I think we can’t stop ourselves from doing it.
Our song leaks out. It’s who we are.
Not many people would see weeds in a laneway. Not many people would find them pretty. Almost no one would get up early on a Sunday morning to write about them, and send the message around the world.
Oh, there are so many things I don’t see at all: science (blahhhhh!), or babies (ugh). Swimming…nope! Not my song. Maybe it’s yours.
I’m not saying I’m so special. Please don’t get me wrong.
But there’s this: somehow, seeing the ‘pretty’ makes me ME.
Vic, a beautiful friend with a wise heart, told me this amazing story a few days ago about her unexpected chance to speak at an open mic in a cafe. She’s talented but she got too mixed up about perfection and she let the chance pass her by.
Then she felt terrible. And she wrote this: I knew I should have done it.
Today, please go and sing your kind of song.
Inventor of solutions or finder of beauty? A person who always helps a child? A heart that wants to problem-solve? Baker or walker? Kitchen dancer? Let it out. Appreciate it: the quirky, beautiful person your mama raised you to be.
Enjoy your weekend…and enjoy being you.
You are irreplaceable.
Love Catherine x