Oh My God, Baby, You

This Is A Nice Metaphor, Too, About Mothers And Daughters - That When It Came Time For Me To Make My Own, I Was Making A Completely Different Garden Than The One That My Mom Has. They Don't Look Like They Came From Relatives. Hers Is A Very Productive And Pragmatic Vegetable Garden, And Mine Is A Ridiculous Overabundance Of Useless Plants. It Doesn't Feed Anybody, It Doesn't Serve Any Purpose.

My Mother Has Made Choices In Her Life, As We All Must, And She Is At Peace With Them. I Can See Her Peace. She Did Not Cop Out On Herself. The Benefits Of Her Choices Are Massive-a Long, Stable Marriage To A Man She Still Calls Her Best Friend; A Family That Has Extended Now Into Grandchildren Who Adore Her; A Certainty In Her Own Strength. Maybe Some Things Were Sacrificed, And My Dad Made His Sacrifices, Too-but Who Amongst Us Lives Without Sacrifice?

It's What I Call The Haute Couture, High-end Version Of Fear Perfectionism. It's Just Fear In Really Good Shoes. But It's Still Fear.

My Mom Is A Master Gardener And I Grew Up On A Farm. I Came Back To It Really Late In Life And Discovered That Despite How Lazy And Inattentive I Was As A Child, I Had Managed To Accidentally Learn Quite A Bit About Gardening.

Big Deal. So You Fell In Love With Someone. Don’t You See What Happened? This Guy Touched A Place In Your Heart Deeper Than You Thought You Were Capable Of Reaching, I Mean You Got Zapped, Kiddo. But That Love You Felt, That’s Just The Beginning. You Just Got A Taste Of Love. That’s Just Limited Little Rinky-dink Mortal Love. Wait Till You See How Much More Deeply You Can Love Than That. Heck, Groceries—you Have The Capacity To Someday Love The Whole World. It’s Your Destiny. Don’t Laugh.