I was processing a memory with my therapist recently, and I realized that I was being quite hard on myself. Looking back, I kept focusing on how much better I could have done in that context, the choices I could have made, and the healthier outlooks and habits of self I could have engaged. All of this was probably pretty accurate, too. But was it fruitful? As I was working through this, two contrasting pictures of growth sprang to mind. The first was of one of those measuring sticks that are used at amusement parks to determine whether you’re tall enough to ride. This view of growth is very linear and strict, with only one real definition of success. All such a measure can really tell you is whether you’ve grown taller, and if you are past a certain benchmark. The second picture that sprang to mind was that of flowers climbing a trellis, growing this way and that, with no particular goal or aim except to flourish. The vine might head in a less helpful direction, or run into an obstacle. In that case it can re-route and try something different, or perhaps later be pruned or trained in a different direction. It is a freer and more expansive view of growth, with the object being just to thrive and expand for the sheer joy of it.
As I was reflecting on how hard I can be on myself, I realized that I was very much using the measuring stick approach. I had set some very high and somewhat arbitrary standards for myself, and all that really mattered in my own self assessment was whether or not I met those marks. Anything less would be a disappointment. I wondered what it would look like to view this difficult time in my life with greater compassion, and whether I could contextualize this period with a trellis-like perspective on growth. Perhaps this was a less fruitful time of my life, and perhaps my growth was not very linear or productive at that moment, but I was still growing. I was trying things and muddling through, and eventually re-routing in a different direction. As I considered that picture, I could feel a spaciousness open in my chest, a freedom, and a lightness. There was definitely still a part of me that felt self-critical, and perhaps even a little uncertain that letting go of the measuring stick entirely was the right move. But I sensed an invitation in that moment, one that felt like the gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit.
There is a poem written by Mary Oliver called “Roses”, which starts with her wrestling with some of the Big Questions in life. I find the last two stanzas particularly moving:
“Wild roses,” I said to them one morning.
“Do you have the answers? And if you do,
would you tell me?”
The roses laughed softly. “Forgive us,”
they said. “But as you can see, we are
just now entirely busy being roses.”
“Roses,” by Mary Oliver
The invitation of the trellis, for me, is the reminder that the goal of growth is to flourish in my own being, to be the fullest, richest most myself version of myself. That doesn’t mean that it is never helpful to set goals or to work towards concrete and measurable things. But this approach gives us more latitude and it frees us up to be generous and patient with ourselves. And perhaps if we’re lucky, we might find a few surprising areas of newness and growth that we hadn’t been looking for.
Wellspring 