The Journey Inward

A few weeks ago, I was out front trimming my rose bushes back. They were aggressively attacking cars pulling in and out of the driveway and the mail carrier making his daily trek up the sidewalk. Suited up in long sleeves and gardening gloves, I began the task of trimming and bagging the shorn stems. This was no easy task, as the thorns penetrated my gloves with ease and my forearms were bearing scratches from their reach across and around the shrubs. Despite their resplendent beauty, confirmed by the several borough residents who plan their walking route to include a pass by the bounty of blooms, I found myself wishing I had spent the money to buy the thornless roses, not these $4 rescue plants from Lowe’s.

I quickly regained my senses, though, as I considered what this chore was teaching me. As a teacher, I see the result of “helicopter” and “lawn mower” parents, who are on hand to help at the first sign of struggle or who run ahead and smooth the path so that their children can avoid hardship and struggle. When I present a problem solving challenge, those kids get frustrated, engage in negative self talk, give up easily and finally just shut down. Taking the thorns out of their paths has not prepared them for life’s challenges that go far beyond my classroom projects.

I thought of my childhood, eating watermelon triangles on the back steps with my friends and spitting the seeds out, vying for the victory of greatest distance. These occasions were also followed by the worry that the seeds we accidentally swallowed might grow a melon in our bellies. Seeded watermelons built a summer ritual that lasted for years. (The internal garden issue was finally put to rest in 3rd grade science while studying what plants need to survive.)

It occurred to me that these thorns, and all of the little inconveniences that are being eradicated in this age of technology and genetic modifications, are harming us. They are not helping us develop tolerance for pain, annoyance, frustration, defeat, and time devoted to task in small doses so that when the bigger tests come, and they will, we can fall back on these building blocks of resilience and find a path forward.

So, scratched and poked, I stepped back to admire a job well done in setting some boundaries with my beautiful bushes. We could now live side by side in harmony and welcome guests. And I flexed my “grit muscles” a bit, too!