I’m envisioning a wildflower field.
Each plant took time to grow, and we’re left with a vibrant explosion of vivacious flowers.
Within my own mind, I memorialize stretches of time by associating them with particular ambiances and colors. Each one of these shrines has been well-developed by endless reminiscing; I spend every day and every night refining them to perfection.
In the past year, however, a new element has assisted me in commemorating each time period.
Writing.
The various columns I’ve written for The Central Trend have become a part of how I remember the past. Every one of them is an excerpt of my thoughts and feelings at the time. Even the ones I’m not particularly proud of, the ones I look back on with a hint of regret, demonstrate my perception of the world when I wrote it.
And I don’t plan on ceasing to do that; however, I’ve changed, and my writing will have to change with me.
My writing will grow into that wildflower garden. Each and every column, each and every flower, will remind me of when I planted it and remind me that I’ve grown. The idea of such a lively bouquet brings me hope just thinking about it.
I’ll plant a new seed every other week and start anew with it. I’ll spend my time watching it grow, watching it blossom, until it’s time to put my energy into another. I won’t let my old flowers die; I’ll continue to water them and their sentimental value by pondering how it’s been so long.
Not every flower needs to be perfect. It’s a lesson I desperately need to learn. In a field filled with such beauty and such wonder, nobody will notice a few wilted buds of times I choose not to remember.
This first seed, right here, may wilt. Despite how short the summer was, I feel as though I haven’t written in ages. I still haven’t learned to give myself grace, so right now I just feel disappointed in myself and my writing. Nevertheless, I need to start somewhere.
Daffodils symbolize new beginnings. I’ve always despised new beginnings because they’re truly just endings in disguise. Summer has slipped through my grasp, and now I’m a sophomore.
Like everything else in my life, I have mixed feelings about this. In some ways, I’m looking forward to the chance to see friends again. But at the same time, I’m petrified of my bad habits becoming worse, and I’m frightened beyond reason to fail. I don’t believe in myself in the slightest and I’m convinced that I never will.
It’s such a captivating flower that represents my crushing fears. These flowers will depict how I feel in the present, and right now, I honestly just feel scared.
If I’m doomed to repeat the past, then the good news is it’ll get better. There’s not much I can plan on, but I can plan on change. I know it’ll be June before I know it, and I’ll grow without even realizing it. And my garden will grow with me. My flowers and I—eternally in bloom.
