05/19/2026
I planted cosmos on my own every year from 2021 to 2024.
Back then, life felt really uncertain. I was just trying to get through each dayātrying to be strong for Evie, while dealing with the constant "hard" that I was dealt with in that specific season of life.
I remember being outside a lot. I craved nature where everything felt quiet and peaceful. I also spent a lot of time getting lost in beautiful places, and I was usually alone with my thought and camera.
Ironically a lot of my time at home was spent doing yard work and pulling weeds; overgrown, relentless weeds.
The kind that take over before you even realize it. Iād clear a space, feel like I made progress, and then turn around and it felt like they were already back again.
It felt a lot like my life did at the time.
Constantly tending to what was hard.
Constantly trying to make room for something better, but not really thinking better would even come.
And in the middle of all of thatā¦ I kept planting.
Every year.
Watering, checking, hopingā¦ even when things around me felt messy and overwhelming.
And they grew.
Wild and imperfect and strong.
They didnāt need perfect conditions. They just kept showing up.
And somehowā¦ so did I.
But I also remember something else.
The day before I met Kregā¦ I had a moment with God where I finally stopped trying to hold it all together.
I told Him that if I was meant to be alone for a long timeāor even foreverāI was okay. I made peace with it. I released it. I stopped trying to control the outcome.
I let it goā¦ completely.
And the very next dayāI met him.
By 2025, we were planting them together.
Already in a place that felt steady, happy, and full in a way I used to pray for.
And then this yearā¦ I didnāt plant a single seed.
Life now feels peaceful. Safe. Loved.
Not something I have to fight to keep.
And then last month on my birthdayā¦ I saw them.
Tiny little sprouts, coming up in the exact same spots where previously planted.
And I remember thinkingā¦ those look just like cosmos.
But that didnāt make sense to me, because I always thought they had to be planted every year.
So I looked it up.
And sure enoughā¦ they can re-seed themselves.
After they die, they leave behind what they need to come back again.
And something about that fact made me emotional.
Because I stood there realizingā
that all those years I thought I was just survivingā¦
I was actually planting.
Planting strength.
Planting healing.
Planting a life I couldnāt fully see yet.
And even when it felt like everything had been stripped down to nothingā¦
something was still being left behind.
Something that knew how to grow again.
Because after all those years of plantingā¦
this was the year I didnāt.
No planning.
No forcing.
No effort from me at all.
And they came back anyway.
Justā¦ growing.
And it felt like the same quiet truth Iāve been learning, over and over againā
that not everything meaningful in life is built through constant effort.
that some things take root in the dark, unseen placesā¦ and rise when the time is right.
that endings arenāt always endingsā¦ sometimes theyāre what make room for what comes back stronger.
that the life and love I have nowā¦ didnāt come from me gripping tighterā
it came when I finally let go.
These little sprouts donāt look like much right now.
But I know what they become.
And maybe the most beautiful part of all of thisā¦
is knowing that I donāt have to fight so hard anymore.
Some things are already rooted.
Some things already know how to grow.
šæš
