The Tale of Five Peppers

I have a confession: I planted a cute little garden in the early spring . . . And it has shriveled and withered.

I had high hopes when I piled bags and bags and bags (and bags and bags) of dirt in those planters and placed the tiny little plants that would certainly become the centerpiece of summer meals.

And, then. Well. And then it got really, really hot. And I love it when it’s hot. I love to sit in the direct path of the sunlight and soak it up until I just can’t stand it anymore.

But it was too hot, even for me.

After hours and hours of work, the last thing I wanted to do was attend to those tiny plants in the heat.

Yes, that’s another “and then.” And then, I sometimes found myself working 70 hours a week and any free time I found, I wasn’t going to spend it nurturing my tiny little garden.

And then, well, that time I did find along the way, I snuggled my children - who just keep getting bigger- I snuggled up with myself and a notebook, I snuggled my pup, I rested.  (And, oh. I guess I also finished my doctorate somewhere along the way.)

Tonight I found myself alone with my thoughts while I washed the dishes, historically the place where tears often find me. I let it out as best as I could and then, pulled myself together. I decided to put my sulking aside and mix up my favorite drink and sit on the porch.

I made my way to my wanna-be garden to grab some mint, only to find it completely shriveled up and gone, as I expected. The basil didn’t make it either, nor the tomatoes. But, to my surprise, two plants were green and nearly flourishing (at least compared to the others.)

Amongst the ruin I found four beautiful jalapeños and a glorious green pepper, rising from the ashes, so it seemed.

And it struck me. Those five peppers are not nothing. Those five peppers do not represent failure. So often we focus on what dies rather than on what survives. Too often the stories we tell ourselves are about our failures rather than about what we have overcome.

Those five peppers brought me into the present moment. My thoughts were no longer about the opportunities missed to water the garden so that it could thrive. No regret. No guilt. No disappointment. I held those five peppers in my hand with joy and pride and hope. They made it - and they have a purpose. Yes, the purpose may be a snack rather than a meal, but a purpose nonetheless - and that is not nothing. That is something. And that matters.