Even with the buffering of the return with a week in the mountains of Colorado and the stunning saguaro desert of Arizona, my return to the Bay after six months of travel has been jarring. A meeting back of two souls searching to see where and how the other has changed. The unspoken question of if the other is now a piece of a different puzzle. If time heals but also estranges.
I had been cavalier in thinking about how quickly I would find a new home. The reality was sixteen nights on a combination of beds and sofas, my waning spirits bolstered by a five-year olds joy, comfort food, and a dog that splayed across me each night like my weighted blanket tucked away in a storage room that I looked for.
I am slowly settling in to new routines and new spaces. I am not asking anything to look the same, but only to allow me to be different and embrace that difference. I’m asking for permission to return.
One of my only requirements for my new space was that it needed to have lots of natural sunlight. I wanted it to be a space where I could grow my old plants and welcome new ones. A space where I could bask in the sun’s rays from the welcoming arms of my sofa. In this sunlight I am already seeing new growth. A new acquaintance of mine is the gladiolus. A flower sometimes forgotten for its sometimes overbearing presence and stubbornness to flower. To me, it has the perfect presence — grand and majestic, it’s long stems reaching to greet me each time I walk through my doors.
But when it comes to gladioli, I have found there are a few rules to follow:
- Use a sharp knife to make a clean, 45 degree angle cut to maximize the surface area for water retention
Many people use garden shears or scissors to prune the stems on fresh flowers before putting them in a vase. But a sharp knife makes the cleanest cut and it’s easier and better for the flowers to make your cut at an angle. I wanted those six months to figure out the chaff. The things that were no longer serving me that I needed to cut off. I wanted to see how much of the stem to keep and which were beyond the 50-pound limit that was dictated to me at each step of my journey. In packing and repacking my bags, I found it hard to contain the things that I carried.
When I had begun my Latin American leg of my journey, I thought that I had packed light. But the holes in my hardshell carry on and the busted seams of my checked bag held a far different version of the story I had told. At the airport in Medellin, I was asked to check both my bags. (Personally, this is one of my favorite things if I already have to wait for one suitcase, as it takes all the weight from me.) As the airline worker was prepping the tags, I watched in horrified embarrassment as she placed large, bright yellow tags on my bags with the word DAMAGED across it. And then I was asked to sign multitudes of forms acknowledging that fact that I knew my bags were DAMAGED.
The truth was that I had taken too much with me at each leg of my journey. Convinced myself that I needed every sweater packed, or that someone would be offended if I didn’t take their Christmas gift with me. And I certainly needed every step of my skincare routine. Foaming cleanser, oil cleanser, essences, acids, toner, retinol, everything needed to come with me so my face could still resemble home. There had been the mistake. I had wanted all these comfort items with me and left no room for the things that I would acquire that would represent a new me. I left with 48 pounds of material goods without thinking that 2 pounds could never suffice for a life journey such as this one.
I left the DAMAGED tags on the bags as a reminder. They are tucked away deep in my storage closet until I have the time to throw them away. I’ve brought the smaller bags to the forefront. I’m making new flight companions.
2. Replace the water every 2-3 days to keep the flowers fresh
Gladioli thrive in a combination of clean water and not a lot of water (around 5-6 inches). Leaving them in a pool of contaminated ater impacts their ability to grow and stunts the blossoming of all the flowers. It’s a need that requires more work and attention but leads to glorious and longer lasting results.
I can viscerally recall the times in my life that I was drowning in unchanged water, head straining to stay above the toxic elements to gasp at hard-fought fresh air. I used to get a massage about twice a year until someone told me that the only way for it to actually help my body was to do it more frequently. Otherwise, any individual massage was merely helping at a surface level because of the layers of tension and pain they were working against. I rarely changed the water…if ever.
One of the things I leaned into during those six months was a slower pace of travel. Gone were the days of the 2-3 days city jump. I relished in the bounty of place. The feel of unpacking (in spite of the annoyance of repacking). In that slowness I found that I could better understand the water quality and better anticipate the need to change it. In the stillness of time, I gained the clarity to read the water meter and, moreover, preemptively remove the dirt to swim more easily in cleansing water. I never needed much water. I only needed to believe that I deserved the quality.
I’m slowing down life here as well. Lounging in the things that bring me life and believing that everything else can wait. I no longer wait to see how bad the water quality can become. I’ve swam in that. I know I can survive. But now, I’m making room for the ease that comes with the attentiveness and care when I don’t let the bad compound.
3. Prune the lower flowers to encourage the higher ones to grow
Gladioli bloom from the bottom up. It’s an interesting direction to observe. Right now, as my bottom gladiolus flourishes, the top buds have yet to open. Removing the top layer of bloomed flowers is referred to as “tipping, and has been used as a means of encouraging the top buds to bloom. But people have found over the years that “tipping” isn’t always necessary. The upper flowers bloom in time. It’s entirely a matter of individual preference.
I sometimes am drawn to the writings that talk about forgetting the things of the past and moving forward without looking back. It’s the kind of soothing words someone who moves often is drawn to. But everything I am today is because of every part of my yesterdays. I don’t have to cut off the path and erase it for my present opportunities and paths to flourish. As the upper buds blossom, the entirety of the stalk appears majestic — together — in the springtime light.
4. Keep the gladiolus away from heat sources
Gladioli don’t do well in high temperatures. But as the temperature outside here rises, I have had to help my gladiolus adjust to warmer temperatures in my apartment. I understand. I am someone who does not entertain cold weather with joy. But my body has always craved the hot-cold circuits of a spa.
A few weeks ago I spent the weekend at Harbin Hot Springs with a friend in town from New York. We both were longing for the healing powers of nature, the soothing covering of the water. Harbin’s pools range in temperature but there are two pools that sit on the extremes: a 112 degree hot pool and a 50 degree cold pool. The very hot pool felt like burning torture the first time I made a quick dip inside its brutal waters. I had to avoid it. I concentrated instead on spending time in the cold pools. Closing my eyes in meditation, focusing on my breathing as the iciness settled around me in frigid familiarity. I have always been a hot weather person. The first and last in a hot tub. But it was only in embracing the discomfort of the cold could I then use that barrier to endure the intense heat of the hottest pool. The hot pool didn’t suddenly magically become comfortable. But it did become manageable. I didn’t need to permanently stay away from the hottest pool. I just needed a longer pan to withstand it.
I’m trying not to jump into things without thought as I settle back into life in the Bay. I’m slowing down time to freeze myself in place long enough to seek discernment for the next move. And no matter the comfort level of the next place, I know I’ll be adjusted, waiting patiently for all the flowers to bloom.
Gladioli tip from this blog post.
Odelia Younge 