Greenthumb.
My changing attitude towards hope.
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I was crouching in my front garden earlier this morning, scrutinising the work that lay ahead of me. Garden is a misnomer I suppose; in front of my house is a small portion of land that used to be grass some years ago. Now, to the one side of the front door is brick paving that serves as a parking space, to the other side is a longer, narrower strip of land covered in a thin layer of decorative stones. Stones that now have numerous weeds and mosses growing amongst them, much to my mother’s chagrin. Around 8 years ago, when we chose to ditch the always-patchy grass in our front garden in favour of stones, the contractors went to some effort to kill the grass precisely so that we wouldn’t run into the weeding issue I face today. They dug up large swaths of lawn and laid a thick plastic tarp down on the earth to stunt the growth of any particularly eager shoots. Perhaps a thicker sheet of plastic was in order, the contractors clearly underestimated my local weeds and mosses.
I am not an avid gardener. As a teenager it was my worst when my mom asked me to help in the garden, potting new plants or weeding. I don’t know exactly why I hated it then, but I’ve turned a corner. I’m not informed, skilled or even particularly passionate about gardening, but it often brings me a moment of peace. This morning I chose to weed the front garden because I needed some time with myself, time to process. I find that when I let myself get my fingers sandy, when I focus on one simple task at a time, my mind begins to decompress. I’m trying to emigrate to Germany and because I am South African (and speak quite broken German at the moment) it’s proving to be quite a difficult and laborious process. I am attempting absolutely every avenue I can think of, from au pairing to art directing. Sometimes, in a conversation with a loved one, a new idea is sparked and I have renewed hope and opportunity. One of those sparks grew a little dimmer this morning: one way of getting employed in Germany began to seem less and less possible. So I turned to my weed ridden garden in search of quiet. I needed some time to sit with myself.
I’m easily overwhelmed by the noise of it all; less so the physical noise around me than my thoughts. I chose to escape to my mossy mess of a front garden this morning because too many worries were bouncing around in my head. Another plan torn to shreds. What will I do now? The voices of doubt drowned out the hope I had yesterday. This isn’t the first no I’ve received, trying to get to Germany. Processing a refusal to my dream is unsurprisingly tough, and my reactions in the past have been far messier and more emotional. Thankfully, I seem to be getting better at dealing with nos. I seem to be more resilient, perhaps. I think I have learned, with the gracious help of kind and wise family and friends, that the loudest voices in my mind are not always the most trustworthy. In the moment when I learn of a new opportunity—a change in visa law, a job I could apply for—my hope is bright and overwhelming, it is the loudest voice in the room. Upon hearing difficult news like earlier this morning, however, the voices of fear and ego make so much noise that my hope can scarcely be heard. I sometimes mistake my inability to hear the voice of hope for its disappearance. That is why, after learning from tears and tantrums, I sought quietness in the garden. Perhaps, if I could quieten the anxious voices, I might be able to hear a hopeful murmur.
At first I believed that the weeds had grown through holes in the tarp, rooted in the soil beneath the rocks and plastic. But when I began uprooting my unwelcome guests, my theory was proven wrong. As I rustled the stones to loosen the weeds, I saw dark, moist soil. All the weeds were shallowly rooted, sitting above the plastic lining. I started thinking in the kind of dreamy, stream of consciousness way that menial tasks afford me and realised that the prosperity of these weeds has been some years in the making. In summer, the African Sun is in full effect and all the grass and plant beds in my neighbourhood dry out. The wind kicks up and blows dust and sand everywhere. In winter, when the front of my house is perennially shady and the Sun is less aggressive, the stones are constantly dewy. Over years, as the sand settled between the stones and the dew compacted it, bringing moisture and life, my once uninhabitable rocky front ‘garden’ became fertile ground for new plants.
I believe that hope is much the same. For years, the sand and dew were unseen, I was totally oblivious to the development of new soil in my front garden. When all the evidence suggested that no plants could grow, preparation had already begun. It shouldn’t have been possible, the contractors laid down their plastic specifically to ward off the growth of anything—weeds or otherwise. But today I worked in my garden for half an hour, sifting soil and plants out of my rocks, where I had assumed it was impossible for them to grow. The new life in Germany that I am hoping for feels, at times, impossible to achieve. I think, though, that each idea, opportunity or refusal that I experience leaves me with just a little sand or a droplet of dew. I can see some evidence of this: my German language skills are improving, I am learning more about the country and its people, I am learning to be persistent. It is endlessly frustrating to expect new life and be met with the emptiness of a rocky landscape. However, one day soon I believe that I will see a breakthrough; new shoots of life will grow where I never thought possible. So I will continue to seek out peace, urging the voices of fear to quieten, keenly listening for the small, steadfast voice of hope.
Hope, I continue to find, is a choice, and I am trying to choose hope as often as I can. If you know and love someone who needs to read about hope and weeds, please share this journal.
Keep hoping and stay positive Jem x
Such a great read, Jeremy. Thank you.