I’ve started container gardening recently, and I’m obsessed.
When you’re tending to a plant, you understand that what’s happening below the surface matters most. I'm trying to ensure I have the right soil, that the plant is kept in the right conditions. Some plants need fertilizer, some hate it. Lush leaves, vibrant blooms—those are just the rewards. The real work? It’s in the soil. It's in the tending. It’s slow, quiet, and unseen.
This, to me, is the perfect metaphor for life, for relationships, and for how I move through the world.
So much of our culture glorifies the surface: the picture-perfect brunches, the curated highlight reels, the illusion of connection. It’s a culture of quick hits and shallow roots. But me? I live in the depths. I’m interested in tending to the soil—doing the hard, intentional work that makes real growth possible.
This shows up in my friendships, too. I don’t want people who are just here for the blooms. I want people who show up for the planting, the watering, and even the pruning seasons. People who can sit with me in the quiet moments, when nothing seems to be growing, and still believe in the process.
If you’re only here for the feast but MIA during the famine, you’re not for me. If my depth feels like too much, it’s okay—you’re not for me.
There’s nothing wrong with seeking the shallow if that’s where you’re at. But some of us are deep waters, and we can only thrive with others who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, to dig in.
So, ask yourself: Are you tending to the soil in your life, or just chasing blooms? Are you cultivating something that will last, or settling for what looks good on the surface?
There’s no judgment here. Just an invitation to go deeper. To plant something real. To embrace the slow magic of growth.