I kill things. All the time.
As you walk into my house a dead Bonsai greats you.
It’s been with me for years and I live in the deluded hop that one day it will magically resurrect itself.
Pot plants don’t stand a chance in my house and even my childhood goldfish (I called her Felicity and I loved her dearly) had a much shorter life span than my sisters fish did.
Frankly, sometimes I marvel at the very fact that I have kept myself alive for the last 37 years.
And this is why I love flowers. Because they’re meant to die. So I can’t be responsible for killing them. Everyone’s a winner! And yes of course they look pretty too.
But flowers mean a little more to me than that.
A few years ago when I started practicing this thing I’d heard about, called self-love, I started buying myself flowers religiously.
Every week or so, when the existing bunch started doing what they were always gonna do and die, I bought some more.
But I didn’t buy flowers because I thought that the external expression of buying flowers meant I was doing the hard work of really loving myself (for more on this have a read of this bad boy – it caused quite a stir and I regret none of it – READ HERE), but because every time I looked the flowers, I reminded myself of 2 things.
The first was that to generate self-love, I have to rock up every day as the very best partner to myself.
My relationship with me is the most important one in my world and how I treat myself is a direct example of how I expect others to treat me.
It is as much use as a fucking dead pot plant to stand around waiting for someone to come and treat me better than I’m treating myself.
(Disclaimer – I’m a messy, scrappy human like everyone else. So of course there are moments when I’m a total dick to myself. But my point is, that flowers remind me to be nice to myself when I’m being so quick to berate, judge or hate on myself.)
The second was that nothing in this life is permanent. Flowers will bloom and be so beautiful for a time. And then they will begin to wilt and eventually die and I’ll whack them in the bin (probably a couple of days later than I should’ve chucked them out to be fair).
Nothing is forever. All we can do is appreciate the beauty of each bunch of flowers when they’re blooming and know when to let them go. Like most things in life.
Walking past a flower shop yesterday, I picked up some gorgeous blooms.
Recently, I seem to have bought less flowers for myself.
There has been a shit load going on for me in the last few months – grief and loss have been major players as have love and growth – life exists in polarity and so for all the hard times I have also experienced great times.
But what I realised was that in this time of high level personal growth (because growth always happens in the contrast – we don’t learn anything by shit staying the same) I’ve stopped doing this seemingly small but massively significant self-love practice.
And so yesterday I bought myself flowers. For me. From me. Because the one thing I can absolutely keep alive in this lifetime, is the love I have for myself, even I can’t keep a pot plant alive for longer than 2 weeks.
So do yourself a favour, go buy your metaphorical flowers today and remind yourself that not only are you the most important relationship you will ever have but you’re also the only permanent relationship you’ll ever have – others will come and go. You were born with you and you will die with you. It’s impossible not to be in a relationship with yourself. So make it a fucking phenomenal one.
Thank you very much for reading,
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