Behold the Wisdom of Potted Plants and Flying Balloons

I've gotta tell ya. . .

I feel pretty silly sitting down to write a blog post since so much time has passed. However, like any good horseman will tell you, you've gotta get back in the saddle after getting bucked off. Assuming you like horses.

And, by golly, I like 'em. Well, blogging, that is.

So here I am.

{Horses are cool, too. *ahem* Moving on.}

I have a potted plant in my bathroom. Granted, it's fake. I have a tendency to kill live potted plants (just ask Grandma June, who rightfully claims that I killed all of her potted ferns during our sojourn in her basement apartment}. But it's a really gorgeous replica of an Orchid and I love staring at it. Awkwardly. Because it's in the bathroom.

{photo source}

I can imagine this scene playing out among my children as they communicate in their secret sibling dialect:

"Where's mom?"
"Um... I don't know. Haven't seen her in a while."
"Is she in the bathroom again?"
"Staring at her fake potted plant?"
"Mmm-hmmm."
"Probably."
"Sweet. Let's raid the fridge and smear yogurt all over the windows."



As I was admiring it the other day, I began critiquing what it was that made it look so realistic. I noted the life-like sheen to the leaves and the realistic tilt to the long, graceful stem. The coloring of each petal was impressive, as well. I noticed how each stem had buds that hadn't bloomed yet, lending it the appearance of a flower just beginning its life.

All of a sudden, it struck me how sad that potted plant must be {because we all know inanimate objects have feelings}. Sure, he'll never droop and die. He'll always be beautiful. Some real plants might whisper around the flower patch that "ol' fake-y" has it all! But he knows the truth. He knows his buds will never bloom because he's stuck in the same existence day in and day out. He knows he'll never grow any taller or feel the sun shine through the windows and warm his petals.

Do we sometimes look at our ourselves the same way? I speak figuratively, of course. Unless you have plastic petals. In which case. . . congratulations?

Sometimes, I am afraid of change. I like things the way they are and I worry that something new might just mess everything up. But if our lives never changed, we'd be just like the potted plant in my bathroom; seemingly flawless, but without any real depth of personality. We wouldn't have the opportunity to test our roots, so to speak.

Don't be afraid of a little change. Oftentimes, it will only serve to make you all the more beautiful in the long run.

And naturally, this is where I discretely segue to my next completely-random-but-totally-relevant analogy.

The helium balloon.

{duh}


A few weeks ago, Hannah got a free helium balloon from the grocery store. She was in seventh heaven and nothing could squelch her happy attitude. I cautioned her to hold tightly to her string when she got out of the car because it was a blustery day.

"Go straight into the house, sweetheart," I cautioned while unbuckling her seat belt. "Otherwise, the wind might blow away your balloon and you'll be sad."

In typical toddler style, she wholeheartedly agreed and then promptly forgot every word I said. Once out in the front yard, she was mesmerized by the wind tugging at her balloon. It was the coolest thing EVER, apparently.

That was until her grip loosened and the balloon twirled into the sky.

In her defense, she didn't cry or throw herself onto the ground in despair. In fact, I have to wonder if she let it go on purpose to test the laws of physics. Together, we watched the balloon rise higher and higher into the darkening sky; the bright blue of the balloon contrasting vividly with the approaching storm clouds.

Hannah lost interest after a few moments and ran off. . . undoubtedly looking for something else to launch into the sky. But I stood there with my neck getting stiff, watching to see how high the balloon would get before popping.

"It's gotta be cold and extremely windy way up there," I thought to myself. "It's cold and windy down here on the ground! How long can it last?!"

But still, the little balloon rose higher.

In fact, it looked almost silly up there all by itself. One lone little balloon in a massive sky; fighting against the elements.  

By the time I lost sight of the little fella, I had learned an important lesson. That balloon was a lot tougher than I initially thought. As soon as Hannah let go of the string, I calculated that it would last all of 10 seconds before popping and falling to the ground in a limp pile of latex. But, no. That little balloon wanted to go the moon, and by golly, he wasn't going to let anything stop him!

Sometimes I think we don't give ourselves enough credit, either. We think we're going to pop in the first 10 seconds when faced with the harsh winds or cold temperatures of trails and difficulties. But we don't! We might be blown around like the little balloon, but we keep rising. If we keep our minds focused on where we want to end up, then we don't need to be frightened. We're a lot tougher than we think . ;)

{photo source}

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