53 – We’ve Both Been Given New Life

1/15/23

I wish I could see myself
the way that I see my fiddle leaf fig.

In the morning when I wake up,
I admire her from the comfort of my bed.
She’s relatively unchanged 
from the last glance I took of her
before I fell asleep – 
regardless, I’m proud.

At some point in the day,
no matter how busy I am,
I’ll stop to examine her leaves.
I’ll dust them off,
take stock of any new growth,
and marvel at their shade of deep green.
At the size of their stalks
and the way they extend to catch the most light.
I’m proud.

You see,
I’ve been her caretaker for years now,
and when she came into my life,
she was in rough shape.
Sun-burnt, skimpy, sallow.
She and I,
we worked hard
to grow.

And when you keep in mind
all that you’ve overcome,
all that you’re overcoming,
you find it easier to stop for a moment
to examine,
to marvel,
to encourage.
When you remember your past self,
you’ll find yourself with a well of gratitude
for who you are in this moment.

I’m learning to see myself
the way that I see my fiddle leaf fig – 
deserving of an encouraging word,
of tender care,
of an admiring look – 
because we’ve both been given new life.

Lightly,
Leah