Cultivate Your Best Self
It wasn’t that I intentionally tried to kill plants. For years, though, it happened. I guess I was just waiting to meet The One?
I’d never been much of a green thumb, until a tiny sprout of a flower, gifted to me by my aunt, insisted I evolve into a proper gardener. My childhood home was full of plants; my dad is terrific with all growing things, inside and out, and I suppose I had taken them for granted. As a young adult, I never gave them much thought, unless someone gave me a plant that could take care of itself, plants were doomed. Dogs? People? Those have always been more my jam.
The plant sprout – a cutting from my aunt’s hibiscus – changed my relationship with plants for the better. It came with a sweetly romantic story, too. The “mother plant” belonged to my great-grandmother, a Hungarian immigrant who lived in Canada, and who died when I was just a girl. Grandma’s gardens were backyard sources for food and flowers, and her hibiscus would have been a lovely addition. Great-grandma’s plant immigrated to the US with my Grampa, and my aunt made sure she had a cutting for herself. My aunt’s plant is massive and beautiful now, flowering frequently. When I was given a cutting of my own, with such a history, I knew I had to grow beyond my plant-killing past.
Fast-forward to 2020. She had grown well beyond a small sprout before Quarantimes; she was a plant about 2 feet tall and she even bloomed when she felt like it (Felix finds her blossoms to be quite tasty, we discovered a couple of years ago). Once I was working from home, I was seeing her every day at lunch in the kitchen window, and whenever I got coffee refills. Because I was nearby, I was way more on my houseplant game about her progress. I was intentional about watering her regularly or turning her towards the sun so she would grow evenly. And when she started to bud, I got to watch the blooms emerge each day.
I paid attention to how amounts of water or sunshine – too much, too little and how often – impacted her bloom cycle and her leaf growth. While everyone else in 2020 was posting about sourdough starter, I was randomly googling growth patterns and leaf colors. I learned that my plant performed when she had enough – not too little, not too much. Like all living things, my plant can manage being overstressed or under-cared-for…but she thrives when she’s in balance.
Like all living things, my plant can manage being overstressed or under-cared-for...but she thrives when she’s in balance.
Her lesson to me was the power of Enough. How many times have you heard, “everything in moderation”? What struck me is this: the power is in not just knowing what is Enough. The power comes from seeking the balance and harmony that comes from Enough in a world screaming that we will only be happy with More. I loved learning that lesson from her, and I loved becoming the gardener she needs me to be.
When I spoke to a designer about my business brand, I was unhesitant that the graphic representing my practice be my hibiscus. The work of coaching is fostered in growth and development, and I knew my heirloom hibiscus would serve as a guiding emblem and resonate with me, my clients and colleagues. Her story inspires me personally to remember my own history, and her growth pattern reminds me of a coaching process centered in helping my clients find their own harmony and balance.
A coaching partnership is a unique season in a person’s professional life. Setting aside time to concentrate deeply on a set of goals for growth and development requires intentional energy and focus. Key to that focus is becoming vulnerable to the things you learn about yourself – and to reflect on your own process of becoming your best self. As a coach, my role is to observe how your process is progressing and to inspire and suggest pathways towards the goals you desire. You have to be ready to pay attention and learn, the same way I was able to finally pay attention to my hibiscus.
My heirloom hibiscus blooms red blossoms and lives indoors year-round, claiming a sunny spot by a big window. She has no predictable schedule for blooming; she seems like she has a mind of her own. She grows at her own pace and in the ways the sun calls to her. My role is to ensure that she has what she needs to bloom when she is ready to do so.
