There is a line I wrote some time ago that means even more to me today:
The garden doesn’t bloom because you pull on the flowers.
A gardener prepares the soil.
She plants.
She waters.
She removes the weeds.
She pays attention to changing conditions.
And then she does something that can be surprisingly difficult for us human beings:
She trusts the process.
She doesn’t tug on the flower to make it bloom faster.
She understands that some things cannot be forced.
I’m learning to live my life the same way.
What Are We Cultivating?
Meditation and mindfulness have made me increasingly aware that our lives are shaped by what we repeatedly tend.
Our thoughts.
Our bodies.
Our relationships.
Our habits.
Our attention.
Our inner dialogue.
Our spiritual lives.
What we nourish tends to grow.
That doesn’t mean we can control everything that happens to us. We can’t.
But we can become more conscious about the conditions we create within ourselves and around us.
I can ask:
What am I watering today?
Fear or trust?
Grasping or openness?
Busyness or presence?
Self-criticism or compassionate curiosity?
Relationships that nourish me or relationships that continually deplete me?
There is wisdom in simply noticing.
Ayurveda and the Wisdom of the Seasons
My study of Ayurveda has deepened this metaphor for me because Ayurveda reminds us that life happens in seasons.
Nature is constantly changing.
So are we.
What nourished us in one season may not be what we need in another.
Our bodies change.
Our energy changes.
Our relationships change.
Our priorities change.
And certainly, as we grow older, our needs change.
For me, healthy aging is not about fighting those changes.
It is about listening to them.
What does my body need now?
What does my spirit need?
Where do I need more movement?
Where do I need more rest?
What am I holding that is ready to be released?
What wants my attention?
This is conscious living in its most practical form.
Pay attention to the season you’re actually in.
Weeding Is Part of Tending
Every garden has weeds.
So does every life.
Old beliefs.
Old identities.
Habits that once served us but no longer do.
Relationships that have run their course.
Possessions we don’t need.
Expectations about how life should unfold.
Even ideas about who we are supposed to be.
The yogic principle of **aparigraha—non-grasping or non-attachment—**has become especially meaningful to me.
Letting go creates space.
And I’ve discovered that sometimes growth doesn’t require adding one more thing.
Sometimes growth begins with removing what is crowding the garden.
Simplify.
That word keeps returning to me.
Simplify the food.
Simplify the schedule.
Simplify the possessions.
Simplify the expectations.
Simplify the spiritual practice.
And listen.
Stop Pulling on the Flowers
This may be the lesson I most need at this stage of my life.
I don’t have to force what comes next.
I can prepare the soil.
I can meditate.
I can study.
I can teach what I love.
I can write.
I can care for my body.
I can nurture friendships.
I can participate in community.
I can remain open to new opportunities.
I can keep my heart open to love.
But I cannot dictate exactly how any of those things will unfold.
The Bhagavad Gita teaches that we have a right to our actions, but not to the fruits of those actions.
That wisdom has become extraordinarily freeing.
My responsibility is the tending.
The blooming is not mine to control.
Relationships Need Gardens Too
I think this is particularly true of relationships.
The relationships I want in my life now—friendships, community, students, colleagues and intimate love—need room to grow organically.
Connection cannot be manufactured.
Neither can belonging.
Neither can love.
I can show up authentically.
I can listen.
I can be curious.
I can communicate honestly.
I can offer kindness.
I can establish healthy boundaries.
I can recognize reciprocity.
And then I can allow another person the freedom to be exactly who they are.
The healthiest relationships aren’t created by pulling on the flowers.
They are cultivated through presence, mutuality, trust and care.
The Garden of Healthy Aging
At 78, I am tending my garden differently than I did at 48—or even 68.
I’m less interested in accumulating and more interested in experiencing.
Less interested in proving and more interested in being.
Less interested in forcing and more interested in allowing.
And increasingly interested in living with simplicity, balance, curiosity, meaning, connection and joy.
I want to nourish this body.
Keep learning.
Keep teaching.
Keep meditating.
Keep loving.
Keep discovering.
Keep laughing.
And keep making room for whatever life still wants to bring me.
That, for me, is becoming The Art of Living Well.
Tend the Garden. Trust the Bloom.
Perhaps our work isn’t to make life happen.
Perhaps our work is to create the conditions in which life can flourish.
Prepare the soil.
Plant what matters.
Water what you love.
Pull the weeds.
Honor the seasons.
Let go of what has finished growing.
And then—
stop pulling on the flowers.
There are things unfolding that we cannot yet see.
Tend the garden.
Trust the bloom.
With love,
Sandi
