Repost: "Today I Discovered my Flower."

Ok, so I don't know if this is considered cheating or not, but I decided to repost an old blog that I wrote  about a year and a half ago.

I want to post it because I think it has a very good question to consider. I read it again and realized that it really made me think. 

This is from my former Blog.

November, 2011.

 

It got really warm this afternoon after a bitterly cold, cloudless morning. When I wake up and see the sky is empty, I know I am in for a cold, cold day. I packed on the layers like I do twice a week, as I am out of the door before sunrise, trekking towards the bus stop. Today was a tiring day. I had a three hour studio that involved nail guns, jigsaws, table saws, hand saws, and wood. After a long three hours of measuring, cutting, sanding, clamping, heavy lifting, splinters, and so on and so forth, I was already ready for my day to be over. Instead, I went up to the University’s beautiful courtyard on the center of campus and met with a few folks from my French class to study for our exam later in the afternoon. 3 hours later, I took my exam, my brain turned to mush, and was, again, ready for the day to be over.  But then I realized I had to pick up my paycheck on the other side of campus… like, way on the other side of campus then make it back to the bus stop on the other side by 3:08 to catch my bus.

I pretty much ran to get my check and back to the bus stop.

I made it back in a decent amount of time: sweating, overheated, exhausted and brain fried.

I sat down, in the shade, on this brick structure that supports the giant sign that says “University of Oregon” and sighed.

But my bus was really late today.

I kept looking for it out of the corner of my eye, coming up the street, but nothing. Diddly squat. I was looking down at the leaves when I heard a guy talking about the gorgeous weather we were having and how it was probably Eugene’s last good day of the season, as rain is pretty standard for us from Halloween on out.

He sat down on the other side of the brick support and I could see him through the bars:  long (past the shoulders long) brunette hair and a beard about as long - a black fedora, no shirt, and an organic wrap from one of the carts nearby.

“How are you?” he smiled vibrantly.  He was trying to get my attention. I looked up and managed a polite smile.

“Tired, but okay,” I replied somewhat dully – a truly honest answer.

“Life is tiring…” he said “…with school, stress, no sleep, no food,” he nodded, taking a bite into his wrap. I smelled onions.

“Yeah, exactly…” I laughed unpleasantly, “Just living day to day…”

“Isn’t it a blessing?” he said, smiling with crooked teeth.

I smiled and looked back down the street to check for the bus again. No bus.

“Are you a student here?” I asked through the bars.

“Nope,” he took another bite.

I waited.

“I am part of Occupy,” he then said. Ah. Occupy Eugene. Occupy has been going on here for a couple weeks now and has recently moved from a park to the edge of campus. I nodded because I really didn’t know what else to say about Occupy.

“How do you feel about what’s going on with equality in the world?”

I was a little taken aback by this question. I don’t think I have ever had a stranger ask me something so personal and relevant. I answered the question as candidly as I could. I am a huge believer in equality. I think it is wrong that some people get treated insincerely for reasons oftentimes out of their control. I wish everyone would be equal, but that I don’t see this happening now or ever. People will always be in a power struggle.  He nodded and continued eating after I gave him my explanation.

“I might go back to school for music,” he said, “music is what’s in me, inside of me,” pointing to his chest.

“I totally understand that one. I am going to school for painting. I couldn’t take that passion out of me if I wanted to,” I did understand. The dream of an artist is hard.

After some chit chat about art and music, and still, no sign of the bus anywhere (had I missed it?), he moved the conversation to self experiences. He told me how he had smoked weed every day since he was in middle school until 2 years ago.  He quit because he wanted to know if he could – and he did. He said there was more to it, though.

“If it isn’t benefiting me, isn’t helping me find myself or be the best person that I can be… if it isn’t opening my mind more than it already is and it isn’t teaching me something or creating love, I don’t need it. Instead I started doing yoga all the time and I tell you – I have never been so high.”

There was quietness again, he was about halfway through his wrap and I was repeatedly glancing up to check for the bus.

We both yakked about the University a little, about work (he worked multiple, local jobs might I add), and college degrees.

We came to the agreement that nowadays, in order to do what you love, and have a passion for, and also live comfortably, you need a college degree. You need papers. That is where times have gone. You can go with it or against it, but (in most cases, I should say) that is what you have got to do. Though he mentioned he was anti – corporation, anti – conformist, he agreed that a degree was the way to go.

Sometimes you still have to go through those things, those mundane, annoying, tiring things… like packing on a bunch of winter clothes because the November morning is biting, or trudging across campus to get that small paycheck that you worked so hard for.

You work and you work and you have bad days and you do all of this to ensure a better future for yourself and to work for a personal goal. You pay insanely expensive tuition to make it as an artist. You occupy Eugene to show people that you matter and have worth.

The one thing that stuck out to me that he said was:
“I am 34 years old and throughout the years, the thing I have learned most of all, is that all good things come slowly. It takes wanting and time and work…. Things come slowly like a flower. A planted seed that you nurture and put love into. You have those days and you get through them, and in the end you have something good that is yours.”

I saw the bus coming and got up to leave. I told him to have a good day as I started walking towards the bus, holding my chin up a bit higher than it had been before.  “Keep shining,” he said, without looking up from the very end of his wrap. With that, I started my small journey home.

There are so many things I took from this conversation. There wasn’t a better day than today for this conversation to take place for me. No matter how tiring or terrible the day is, we are doing it for tomorrow. And it is something to be proud of. Yes, we’re tired. We’re broke. We work hard. Sometimes we just want to go home.

But we’re trying.

We are doing it for ourselves, our families, our lives, the future.  We keep on pushing and keep on shining.

We nurture that seed, and take care of it every day, ensuring it doesn’t die until it blooms into a healthy, beautiful flower.

Your flower.

Painting is my flower.