Waiting

Reflections on slowness and paying attention

Above is one of several unintentional selfies I took while trying to capture a photo of a chrysalis just before the butterfly emerged. The chrysalis darkens about a day before the butterfly emerges. I observe how this darkening is really the green outer layer turning translucent so the folded wings of the monarch butterfly inside are visible.

I inadvertently captured a photo of myself waiting.

I’ve been thinking about waiting in relation to creative practice lately.

The natural world seems to offer us lessons in waiting too.

It’s been a different sort of year in the garden and I am thankful for my friend

Anne Brock

’s beautiful post she wrote in July called Eyes to See Beauty: On Not Comparing

Her words and stories from her garden are a good reminder that it is not only when we compare ourselves to others that we may feel diminished but when we compare this year’s garden or this year’s experience to those of the past.

In my garden, I am waiting for the tithonia to bloom. I know from the camera roll on my phone that in the past two years, I had plants as tall as I am with red-orange blooms by the end of July. Now, in September, I am still waiting.

While I wait, I can appreciate the black-eyed susans that seeded themselves from last year’s plant, I can enjoy the velvety feel of the tithonia stems and the softness of the leaves. I can water to try to make up for what a dry year we have had.

I can’t make the plant bloom.

Prior to this year, I would have said tithonia were one of the most determined and hardy plants in my garden. They bloomed from July to early November. I found seedlings sprouting in the gravel and even in a crack between our front patio and driveway.

A post by my friend

Kathy Swaar

PR: Some Thoughts on Persistence and Resilience reminded me of the way we can tie persistence to performance and resilience to rapid recovery. Kathy writes about a corn plant growing in a rain gutter. It is persistent in spite of the fact it will not produce a stalk of corn. It is persistent in its desire to keep showing up, to grow in such unfavorable conditions.

On resilience, Kathy writes,

Resilience has always been tied to time in my mind. I thought how fast I got back on my feet was what mattered.

But that wasn’t true for the corn plant, and according to psychologist Adam Grant, it isn’t true for us human creatures either.

“…Resilience,” Grant says, “is not about how quickly you bounce back—it’s about how fully you recover.”

I love this distinction between speed and full recovery in our healing journeys. It resonates with the ways I have been feeling about time lately too. It takes a different kind of determined and trusting energy to sit still with things that feel unknown or unresolved, in the nature world and in the unfolding of my own life.

I can see these tithonia plants as both persistent and resilient. Some, like the one pictured above, look to have some promise of blooming before the first frost. A few are tender green shoots of small seedlings that likely won’t bloom at all this year. While they haven’t grown as I would expect, they have persisted and reestablished themselves, even after I find them uprooted by squirrels. They keep showing up.

A tithonia plant seedling.

I can wonder about why this year is different and what I might do next year to encourage blooms, and I can wait and see what happens next.

Waiting is hopeful. It’s like my son at four, when asked if he liked tomatoes, he said, “I don’t like them, yet.” I am not sure he was exactly waiting to like tomatoes. His use of the word, “yet,” suggested he was open to a change in opinion. My friend who asked the question, responded in kind, “I don’t like them yet, either,” looking at me with a knowing smile.

Sometimes waiting feels like being with the energy of “not yet,” with anticipation and openness to something happening, even if it is not what you expect, and especially if it is beyond your control.

One of my favorite books about drawing is titled It’s Not a Bird Yet by Ursula Kolbe. The title comes from a statement by a little boy who was drawing shapes. He had made one bird and began to draw a similar shape for a new drawing. He made this remark just before adding the eye and beak, defining features of the bird. In this case, his statement felt like a prelude and savoring of the moment before a creation is complete.

Carrie Newcomer

’s song, “The Beautiful Not Yet” is a moving tribute to this energy. In her book, The Beautiful Not Yet, Carrie Newcomer shares an introduction to the song lyrics:

We live in an ever accelerating goal-oriented world. It is easy to become distracted and restless. We are not who we were, and yet we are not who we will become. I went for a walk in early spring when the snow was gone but leaves had not yet budded. The light was clear and clean, falling totally unencumbered through the trees. Yes, summer was coming, lush and unsubtle, but in that moment I found myself grateful and in love with the quickening. Life is always lived between then and soon, right here and now, in the beautiful not yet.

Thank you for all your feedback and thoughts on my last post, Chrysalis. Here are a few more photos that show the chrysalis as the butterfly prepares to emerge:

Bright green monarch chrysalis, the wing patterns beginning to show through the green, chrysalises just before the butterflies emerge.

Here is a newly emerged butterfly dring her wings while hanging from the empty chrysallis.

Hanging from the chrysalis while wings lengthen and dry.

And finally, here are a few ready for flight.

Monarchs ready to fly.

Male (left) and female monarchs. The male is distinguished by the small black dots along the lines on the wing. They appear on the lower wings near the body.

I’ve released two dozen butterflies so far, now two caterpillars remain. While it is a joy to release them, I also feel a bittersweet sense of missing the companionship of these transforming creatures on my back porch.

I’d love to hear from you, what processes or beings in the natural world invite you to wondrous waiting, to paying deeper attention?

Thank you for reading, connecting and being a part of creative community through this newsletter.

With a grateful heart,

Kathryn

The largest group I have seen emerge and launch togehter - 7 in one day!