You can always feel a cold front coming through our area — it generally just blows your socks off. The other day, I heard the cold-front wind kick in, and decided to harvest the blooms from my roses before the petals ended up in Kansas. I was clipping away at stems, running through the yard form one rose to another like stops on a gameboard, snipping whoever was next. I started in the rose garden, and nabbed a handful of purple “Melody Parfumees.” I sheared the white climbers on the way to the english roses, where I grabbed a delicate, creamy rose with pink edges. These three roses are in different parts of the garden, so I never see them together. But in the palm of my hand, they were a lovely combination. What a complimentary and breathtaking bouquet they made.
The next day, I spent some really fun time with my dear friends, Kevin and Rachel. As we talked and laughed and played, I couldn’t help but think of that bouquet. Kevin and Rachel are designers, too, and we are a rare bunch. Which is why it’s so fun to be together with them. I feel the most authentic when I am with them — it’s as if they know where the good stuff is in me, and they know how to bring it out. And whenever I leave (which is usually late, because time evaporates when I’m with them), I leave feeling high on life. I feel like I’ve been enjoyed for who I am, and I’ve been given the chance to enjoy them for who they are. It’s darn fun.
So, the juxtaposition of this bouquet and my little friend-bouquet got me thinking. I have some other gorgeous roses in my yard, like a firecracker of a red-to-yellow rose named “Cherries Jubilee.” It’s just marvelous, but I’ve got to tell you, put it with my purple-toned bouquet, and it looks yucky. I don’t see it’s beauty. I just see it fighting to fit in a place where it doesn’t belong.
Confession time: for years I tried to fit everyone into my life. I felt the need to accept everyone, to accommodate their needs. I thought if I cared enough, we would all live happily together; if I put them first, they would fit into my bouquet. But now that I’m older and wiser (and a little more bruised), I see the beauty in allowing other people to look great in their own bouquets, where the vibrant orange or the stunning yellow can draw out the best in them. Because, really, some people will never enhance my bouquet, and I would never enhance theirs — no matter how hard I try to fit their palette. And some people, no matter how long you’ve known them, will just light you up, cast you in great light, and be the best thing near you in years.
So, I’m a little less friendly than before maybe, and definitely less inclined to change who I am so others feel more comfortable. I’m so grateful for my friends who let me shine just the way I am — who pick up on the highlights. And I’m really grateful for that thrown-together bunch of roses on a windy day.
