I planted daffodil bulbs over four years ago, but they have sprouted only once. Every spring I have waited, patiently, for them to show their faces, and almost every spring they have denied me the satisfaction. But this year, they came back again. In fact, they must have come back several days ago– it was only yesterday morning that I noticed them.
I didn’t notice the daffodils because I was spending 8 hours a day rewriting my novel, completing our taxes, exercising, helping out with my daughters’ school musical, trying to cook healthy meals every night… you know, doing all of the things on my never-ending “list.” The list that we all have. This list of things that has to get done.
But the daffodils don’t give a damn about “the list.” They show up when they want to, stretch their limbs, settle in to observe the nature around them, then, without warning, disappear until the following spring. They don’t give a damn that its tax season. They don’t care that I’m too busy to notice them.
But last night, we decided to pay attention. All the neighborhood kids spent the evening exploring the creek in front of our house. And after they came home, all muddy and spent, I went on a long walk with dear friends under the crescent moon.
This list never gets shorter, nor does it become less urgent. It is what it is. But sometimes I have to remind myself to say, screw “the list.” Go hang out with the daffodils before they decide they’re done hanging out with me.