the second round

The cherry blossoms are blooming here.

I thought my days with cherry blossoms were over. At home they bloomed weeks ago, their beauty lining street after street, their fragrance a welcome reminder that something new was beginning.

It seemed like there were more cherry blossoms than I remember from previous years. All of a sudden those grey, bare trees were full of life, covering sidewalks with temporary pastel awnings. Looking up was like being underneath a snowstorm, blinking furiously up at flakes that never fell into my eyes.

They didn’t last long.

The petals drifted to the ground on gentle breezes for a while, giving hope that they would still be in abundance the next morning. Eventually the rain ripped them from their temporary homes, pinning their soft smoothness to the hard cement. Their edges browned after being pelted by the weather, stepped on by countless rubber boots and the occasional brave sandal.

I always feel an ache in my chest when the cherry blossoms are gone.

Like I should have done more with them. I should have spread a blanket underneath their branches and watched them flutter in the wind, drinking in their pastel glory & taking deep, luxurious breaths. I should have pushed for portrait sessions, demanding that people say, “This! This season is what we want to remember! Look at the beauty around us!”

I feel like I went through a lot of growth very suddenly. The business coaching I went through last year was fast, three months of intense self-discovery during wedding season – because apparently I like a challenge – and capped off with finding the words to explain why I do this thing called photography more recently.

It felt sudden and overwhelming and glorious all at once, all this newness surrounding me.

And then the petals fell.

I felt stuck to the cement. Not quite battered and bruised, but still stuck.

After all this change, life quickly fell into a routine that I grew to love dearly because it was so, so comfortable. It only varied in minor decisions, like which coffee shop to work at that day. My days were full in one sense, lots of coffee dates and young adult groups and time spent enjoying the freedom that came with my first real off-season.

That comfort made me feel stuck. After so much change and so much excitement in such a short time span, I felt like I wasn’t growing anymore. I felt an ache I couldn’t explain, a restlessness that couldn’t be calmed even if I sat by my river in Fort Langley every day.

The end of winter had me feeling more anxious than refreshed, regretting all that I should have done to get the most out of that season of rest. I had missed my opportunity to take deep breaths, to reflect on the beauty of what I had just gone through. I felt like I had missed the chance to pause and say, “This! This season is what I want to remember! Look at the beauty around me!”

The pull to Calgary happened right at the beginning of feeling that way. I had no idea what life would look like, where I would live, when I would fill my calendar with things to do and people to see, but I felt the idea of a temporary move nestle into my heart. It dug its roots deep, relentlessly spreading into my thoughts every day, pushing its way to the forefront of my mind until I finally agreed to be all in with this part of God’s plan.

So here I am, feeling growth exploding in my soul like the cherry blossoms surrounding me in Calgary.

A second round of blossoms.

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