Right now, my hands are tingling with the promise of blisters, my palms seem to be permanently stained by dirt, my shoulders are aching , and my heart is content. I've never considered myself to be much of a gardener. That's best left to my mom, who has a sure-fire green thumb. I have, however, found a good use for my OCD-like tendencies: weed-pulling! This has taken up a good portion of my last two weekends, and I'm now mostly satisfied by the appearance of our yard. It was rather embarassing before we started; it's by no means immaculate now, but it is a marked improvement.
Lately, I've been struggling with this search for an adult identity (anyone else feeling that their 20s are tougher than expected?), and I was really needing a boost to help me regain a sense of competence I suppose I'd taken for granted. I'm slowly but surely realizing that this sense of accomplishment shouldn't come from others' validation, but through my own pride in achieving something. Today, I am proud of the war I have waged upon the treacherous weeds invading our home. No more shall my feet be attacked by the ridiculously belligerent burrs, and no more shall my grass be choked out. Enough is enough.
I suppose there's also a metaphor somewhere in there about pulling out the "weeds" that plague our daily lives. These "weeds" are sure to return, but with perseverance, we can keep fighting the good fight. Eventually, they grow back less and less, but it takes time and patience. I'm going to keep pulling those "weeds" out, and I'm not going to give up. How's that for stubborn persistence?
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