When It Is More Painful to Blossom Than to Remain a Bud

Someone recently sent me an e-mail with the following quote in the signature:

“And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

These words come from Anais Nin, a writer whose journals contain more than this one beautiful quote. I printed it out in 24-point type and taped it below my computer screen.

These days, I totally relate to Nin’s sentiment. I feel as if I’ve long ago begun to allow the bud that is my professional potential as a writer to begin the process of opening. I have given each petal permission individually, hesitantly, cautiously, to begin to loosen its grip on the bud. Now, the process can no longer be controlled. The petals release themselves from their tight cluster with abandon, spreading themselves wide, and the bud is quickly looking more like a bloom.

There’s an energy that has been released in the process that won’t allow me to go backwards. Oh, part of me would really like to go backwards, like when I rewind a movie I’ve recorded. It would feel much safer to be in that bud, but my inner self, my soul, won’t let me do that. It keeps pushing me forward, making me become what I am supposed to become. It persistently offers me new inspiration, more commitment, a higher level of desire. And now, indeed, it feels more painful to remain where I’ve been than to move towards where I’m going. I can do nothing but flower.

Now, will that flower be one seen by the world? I don’t know. Will it be seen by some? Very likely. Does it matter? Well, as a writer, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter to me at all. However, the main thing is that I fulfill my purpose – to help others through my writing and speaking.

And isn’t that all a flower does when it blooms? No one has to even see it blooming, admire it’s beauty or even smell it’s fragrance, and it still fulfills its purpose – to grow, to bud and to blossom.

Why then, when a flower fulfills its purpose seemingly effortlessly, is it so difficult for us humans to do so? Why has it felt like such a struggle to find an agent, to sell an article, to obtain a book contract, to increase the size of my mailing list, to enroll people in my classes? Why does my life, at every turn, seem to make it even more difficult with lack of time, financial issues, family responsibilities? And why do I balk, feeling not good enough, insecure, afraid. Oh…so many days I’d love to go back into that bloom. It would feel so much safer to be there now. But the bud never remains a bud…unless it dies I bud. I don’t want to die a bud.

I remember taking a human potential class where we talked about “unfolding.” The result of our fear of exposing ourselves and being who we truly are was described as “folding up” like a piece of paper. We were told to “unfold.” Little by little I’m unfolding, but that is a process that to some extent I can control.

The flower within me, however, is uncontrollable. I seem to have no choice at this point but to blossom – unless of course I allow the bud to whither and die on the stalk. I don’t think I can live with that…it would be too painful. So, like Nin, it seems the day has come when the risk of remaining tight inside the bud is more painful than the risk it will take to blossom.

Signs of Life After Death and Passover Narrow Places

Okay, so Passover is over. I feel like I missed most of it…and while I’ve moved through a few narrow places and come out the other side of the parted waters, I’m still stuck in a few other tight spots.

I missed a good bit of Passover this year, because my father-in-law passed away on Friday, March 30th at about 8:35 PST. I know the approximate time, because my kids and I were in the process of doing Shabbat blessings (a little late, I know…). We had lit the Shabbat candles and said a special prayer for their grandfather, Miles, to have an easy transition and each in our own way said good bye to him – let him go. Some time after the candle blessing and before the blessing for the challah, one of our candles went out, and I checked the time as I wondered if this was a sign that Miles was gone. About 15 minutes later, my husband, Ron, called to tell me Miles had died. I knew then for sure that my father-in-law had heard our prayers, come to say goodbye and then had felt released. Granted it was not just our prayers that released him. His wife had just gone to bed. My husband had already voiced that he was ready for his Dad’s suffering – and his own – to end. Still, it provided me and my children with evidence of the non-local nature of the soul and of life after death. It proved to me once again that prayers have tremendous power.

So, we cancelled our first-night seder and boarded a plane on Monday morning to go to Missouri for a funeral. We had a hard time observing the dietary restrictions while staying in my mother-in-law’s home, but we finally opened out boxes of matzoh on Thursday upon returning home and had a seder on the seventh night of the holiday rather than not at all.

As for narrow places...well, my father-in-law’s illness and passing definitely constituted one. There has been my search for an agent, which is over, but I am still waiting for a publisher for that book and literary representation for my cookbook...and that feels like a narrow place (widening a bit but still tight). Time continues to feel tight, and my work load feels crushing. Financially, my husband and I are in a tight spot as well, but it should be opening up soon as well. So, some freedom has been achieved, but I don’t feel totally on dry land yet.

Is it possible to be totally on the other side of the Red Sea, dry and free? Or is there always another narrow place? Is it like one birth canal after another? Can we be sure the waters will always part when we find ourselves trapped on the edge of the ocean? Will there be life on the other side?

I suppose life often presents us with narrow places. More than that I see that when we keep putting goals in front of ourselves – like writing a book…and earning more money…and getting in shape…and losing 10 pounds…and proposing another book – we continually create new narrow places. And if we keep moving forward with faith – like Nachshon entering the water of the Red Sea up to his nose – the waters do, indeed, part. We aren’t always sure what we will find on the other side, but with faith and perseverance we do end up on the other shore, closer to our goal, a little bit more free, changed a lot or a little, still alive.

So, here's to Miles, who lived a good life and lives on in the memories of his family and friends and whose memory is a blessing. And here's to narrow places, rebirths and life itself. L'chaim. To life. To Living.