On fields and growth

Imagine, you have a field given to you when you're born. What type of field it is, you will never know for sure. The bare field is beyond your care. Afterall, You are a child. Thus, your parents, relatives, and teachers are given levels of responsibility for it. With others' help, you plant many seeds.
Because, again, you are a child. You don't know what to do with a field. You don't even know what it is. You don't know anything. The field looks big. You are happy.

When you're a bit older, you begin wandering. For the first time, you notice the many fields near yours. You meet others' tending to their fields. The closest belonging family. Your friends' a bit further. You feel tempted to compare with others' fields. But your parents tell you that you mustn't.

As you grow, you take more ownership to the tending of your fields. Sometimes it is a struggle. You don't know what grows in your field. The seeds you planted have sprouted. But not all of them grew. There are weeds, too. You look at others' fields and see them flourishing. What have you done wrong? Should you copy them? You don't think so. But you do.

The plants you grew in emulation are taxing. They require extensive care and coddling. Every night you are pushed to exhaustion. But your friends like the flowers. Your parents too. So you continue. Tirelessly.

Every winter when the flowers die, you feel a second's relief. You look outwards into the field and, again, feel hope. The bare field is rife with possibility. You can plant anything you want. But you look over your shoulder. And you see that your friends and family have pre-approved some seeds. "You've always planted these before, and we like it when you do" "Don't plant things that won't bring us prestige" "Believe us, we know what's best" They say in their silence. And without proper check, you follow. They have all cared for your field before. Certainly, they must have your interest at heart.

Unchecked, you hold that for many following years. You try growing rose bushes in wet mudlands. Because your mom once showed appreciation. You suffer because it is no small task. Roses need sun and good drainage. Your fields do not offer that. In your age, you've seen many fields. Your interests now vary, and your knowledge has grown. By now, you're certain you know the most about what your field needs. Yet, there is a perverse obligation that holds you back. You know your field is perfect for growing lotus. But you continue growing roses and other flowers. You realize that this is no longer sustainable. Little by little, you feel resentment. Resentment towards your friends. Resentment towards your parents And towards yourself.

So many winters have gone by with you repeating your mistakes. Your joints hurt from what you know to be mistakes now. You look outside at your fields and feel bitter. The soil is tattered and malnutrioned. Dying soil from years ill fitting plants. You look to blame someone for it- anyone. Sometimes, you look at others' fields and lash outwards. It is all their fault- how dare they? At other times, you look inwards and see a fantasy field in your mind. And you resent yourself for not being confident. Why hadn't you stood your ground earlier? When you first realized what you needed. How could you have let this happen? Wasn't it your responsibility? It's your field, afterall. Who's approval mattered?

Many winters pass and your resentment grows like weeds. You cycle through resentment, guilt, and anger. Your personality warps into an ugly thing. Everything feels poisoned around you. Sneering faces look in from the adjacent fields. Friends and family look in and ask whether you need help. But you only see their concerns as pitying remarks. "Who are they to offer you help?" "They're not better than me" You think to yourself. But a quiet voice whispers: that you're not really worth it.

After all, why else would your field remain barren? You could have made all the right choices. You were learned enough to know them. You had choices in what you did. The paths were open to you. Why didn't you choose? why couldn't you choose? Who's approval were you waiting for?

You realize now that for all your resentment, nothing has changed. Your fields remain barren and weeds have taken over. Folks whose approval you yearend for have gone. They peer in and judge, but they don't involve. It took you too long to realize this. But their approval doesn't matter. None of it.

However, nothing changes with this realization. Yet, at the same time - you know everthing has. The weeds that symbolized hopelessness, no longer do so. The arid land, looks once more like a field of possibilities. You choose your plants based on what you know to be best. These are plants that you've yearned for years. Those that your family had found lacking. Though the soil is distressed from neglect, these plants take. There are bushes and weeds that need to be removed. And it will be hard work, you know this. This mountain will not be easy to climb. You still exhaust yourself by night. But it sits different in the soul.

Though your joints creak as you till the fields, you are happy.