On Monday's ride home, we stopped on the Peabody side of campus and had what Ivy referred to as an Easter egg hunt. Although the "eggs" were actually nuts, it didn't really matter. The squirrels kids had fun, and as we continued the ride toward home, I recalled hearing or reading this little gem:
Hidden deep inside each acorn lies the potential for a thousand forests.
Hidden deep inside each acorn lies the potential for a thousand forests.
Whoa. Pretty big thought, isn't it? And then I started thinking about how much greater and infinite is the potential that lies inside each one of us. I mean, if one acorn can produce 1000 forests, how much more is one person capable of creating? But then I started getting a little freaked out, because I'm about to turn 34, and, let's be honest, I haven't exactly set the world on fire (yet). Maybe I could and certainly I should be accomplishing so much more, right? After all, that guy who started Facebook? He's 24. The Google guys? They just turned 35, and they had no doubt started on their world-changing contributions while still in their 20s.
This sorta warped comparative analysis could go on and on and on and on, and would wind up resulting in me spending a few hundred (thousand) dollars working with a therapist. But I don't think this acorn analogy has to be a stressful idea. What a bummer if this thought only resulted in more anxiety or guilt or fear. Who needs more negative vibes?
So, refusing to give up on this acorn thing and promising myself that I would be more gentle with myself (as Austin Powers might put it), I began to reconsider the potential of an acorn, and the fact that an acorn just "is." I mean, it's a pretty laid-back approach that the acorn takes to its forest creating activities. Seriously, it just is. An acorn. And with time and care and good soil and plenty of water (and no kids running around collecting it as if it contained a bunch of jelly beans or maybe even a shiny quarter), the processes of the universe might produce a tree. Perhaps a forest.
Keeping it real, let's admit that the future for this little acorn is uncertain. Luck will be required, and timing will be everything. But the potential is there. And meanwhile, all it has to be is what it was meant to be. An acorn.
And perhaps that is all any of us need to be. Today, with care and gentleness, I am contemplating my potential and resting in this idea that all I have to be is Josh. Josh the acorn.
This sorta warped comparative analysis could go on and on and on and on, and would wind up resulting in me spending a few hundred (thousand) dollars working with a therapist. But I don't think this acorn analogy has to be a stressful idea. What a bummer if this thought only resulted in more anxiety or guilt or fear. Who needs more negative vibes?
So, refusing to give up on this acorn thing and promising myself that I would be more gentle with myself (as Austin Powers might put it), I began to reconsider the potential of an acorn, and the fact that an acorn just "is." I mean, it's a pretty laid-back approach that the acorn takes to its forest creating activities. Seriously, it just is. An acorn. And with time and care and good soil and plenty of water (and no kids running around collecting it as if it contained a bunch of jelly beans or maybe even a shiny quarter), the processes of the universe might produce a tree. Perhaps a forest.
Keeping it real, let's admit that the future for this little acorn is uncertain. Luck will be required, and timing will be everything. But the potential is there. And meanwhile, all it has to be is what it was meant to be. An acorn.
And perhaps that is all any of us need to be. Today, with care and gentleness, I am contemplating my potential and resting in this idea that all I have to be is Josh. Josh the acorn.
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