It starts with frustration.
Frustration bubbles and boils, spills over and simmers on high-heat, creating the perfect amount of friction.
Friction flares and burns, stings and bites, suddenly bursting us wide open.
Openness—awkward at first, vulnerable at first, raw at first, painful at firs—settles in and becomes second nature.
Openness sprouts into a sweetly-scented cherry blossom of curiosity.
Curiosity, in it’s crystalline innocence, creates the sacred space for a question.
The question, delicate at first, small at first, a whisper at first, steeps like jasmine tea, and blooms into so much more.
“What do I want to do with my life?”
So, we close our eyes, inhale, and breathe in the juiciness of that question.
We stay there, maybe for a second, maybe for a minute, maybe for an hour.
We stay long enough to taste, touch and feel all sides of this far-reaching query.
We stay long enough to let it grab ahold of us, rooting firmly in the base of our spine.
And so a sacred seed is planted.
It feels uncomfortable yet familiar, because the soil in our soul has been long-awaiting this moment.
Now comes the hardest part: patience.
Patience, to allow our sparkling seed to unfold in it’s own time.
Patience, to water and nourish it each morning.
Patience, to keep it cuddled close like a prized jewel each day.
Patience, to tuck it in silky linens, kissing it’s sweaty forehead each night.
Patience becomes a loving practice that quiets us, soothes and softens us.
Now–only now–are we truly ready to receive our answers.
A subtle unfolding takes place, traveling up our spine, blossoming towards the sky.
The petals open, and we touch them oh-so-delicately.
This is where our truth resides.
Breathe in the luscious scent of your destiny, wrap yourself in it, melt into it.
It feels so much like home it hurts.
Because it is home.
We just forgot.
The process isn’t complete.
It’s never complete.
Be on the lookout, more budding flowers of truth are on their way.
So, let’s get ready to blossom like we mean it.
Author: Sarah Harvey
Editor: Renee Picard