I Am Not a Gardener
For the last three years the spot where my lawn used to be has featured a pile of dirt and weeds. The closest I got to receiving “Yard of the Month” was when the sign blew over to my yard from my neighbor’s lush garden. I figured it would be an act of God before I would ever win that thing.
Each year I have tried in vain to regrow my lawn. I have purchased seed, soil, a manual push aerator, a mechanical aerator (which was really embarrassing to try to operate).
After seeding my lawn, I would spend mornings dodging my poorly positioned sprinkler. I would drag it from spot to spot with the hose kinked, leaving me just enough time to hop out of its way before the water would angrily explode out of the end. Most of my attempts would leave me damp and sometimes downright soaked.
Last fall, I decided to bite the bullet and hire a lawn service. Guess what happened… my lawn returned. I thought it was a lost cause but it was me who was the lost cause. I had to accept that I am not a gardener.
“I AM NOT A GARDENER.”
This morning, I stood in the middle of my yard in awe at my success (albeit hired success). The cool, fresh grass shot up between my toes. I proudly stared around my gloriously green yard. It’s really rather magnificent.
This dreadfully domestic moment helped me remember that I am not an expert in everything. As I approach my forty-fifth birthday, I now understand there are perfectly acceptable occasions to hire a professional.
Back in January, I came to a similar realization when I hired a designer to create a logo, typeface and color palette for a project. It felt so good to see her handy-work and realize that I never could have produced something so good — no matter how much I watered and seeded it.
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