Inside the Greenhouse

I’ve been hitting the ‘snooze’ button on this writing thing for a number of weeks now.


While I’ve missed the discipline of frequent documentation, I don’t regret having taken a step back from the keyboard. It’s been nice to rediscover that a moment doesn’t need to be eternalized via the written word to be real, or meaningful. On a similar note, it feels so, so good to hit the sack at the end of a hectic day without first feeling compelled to extract meaning from the week’s messy details. It can be nice to just let yourself get caught up in the chaos, you know?

Besides, I haven’t had to look too far to find a sense of purpose, lately. It’s all around me.


We’re at that pivotal point in the race where summer hands the baton to fall, and fall takes off sprinting. When I stop and think about it I know I’ll eventually long for the lazy spontaneity of summer, but right now I’ve got a hankering for all things autumn. I love the cooler air, the richer colors. I love that everything seems to be marked important. I love that my agenda planner has a serious deficit of blank calendar squares.

Oh, did I forget to mention? I’m back at college, cue the sighs of relief. Every morning that I wake up in my room that sits five stories above quaint Bowling Green I think: there are far worse places for this chapter of my life to be unfolding. This town may have a reputation for being a windy wasteland during the winter months, but it is absolutely lovely mid-September. An added bonus: It’s home to my favorite coffee shop (within walking distance!)


I had all summer to think of ways to revolutionize the college experience, and when the time came to pack my bags for school I had formulated my plan, even boiled it down to a mantra: Get more involved. Establish a routine. Get enough sleep. Take chances. Work out daily. Do whatever it takes to be happy.

Needless to say, I’ve been taking my own advice, for once. I’m renting a cozy little space on the corner of life’s pretty much perfect and there’s always room for improvement. I’m also trying this new thing where I state out-loud the things I’m grateful for, whenever those things occur to me. (On today’s list: charcoal skies, warm croissants, having a Saturday all to myself.) To the people around me this might sound something like bragging, sorry, guys. To me it feels like a necessary step toward being unguardedly optimistic.

Being the cynic that I am, I’m not without doubts. I know there could come a point in the winter when I’ll abandon the desire to overachieve and run for the hills; revert to survival mode. It’s happened before. But next time around, I’d like to think I’ll be kinder to myself, more forgiving. Wilting flowers don’t grow new blossoms when stomped on.

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The important thing is that right now my flower garden is well-watered, flourishing, free of weeds. And I’m happy, and I’m working hard, and I’m writing again.


Stay nutty.