It’s me. I am the moonflower.
Recently I breezed through a series of paintings called the Magic Moon Collection. Occasionally I’ll get an idea, and it just seems to roll right out of my paintbrush with little effort. It wasn’t until I began to do write-ups for the release of the collection that I felt a deeper connection with these pieces. I spent a couple of days describing the moon in each one, trying to capture the right adjectives for the lesser light in the sky, while not lessening its power and beauty at the same time.
In doing so, I also needed to incorporate the flowers and blossoms that are on the canvas in the write-ups. It’s a bit of an oxymoron seeing blooms open to the moon. But there are several types of flowers that do in fact bloom at night! As I journeyed through each piece again, more slowly this time, I began to realize that I had more in common with the moonflowers, than I did with the actual moon.
I’ve always referred to myself as a late bloomer. It always seemed to me like the people around me knew which direction they were headed in life. Set a goal, go for it, reach it. Rinse and repeat. I’d think to myself, “How do they all have their shit together, and I just don’t?!” I went along for years and years just doing what was expected of me and did pretty well as far as common sense goes. Blooming when and where I thought I was supposed to, not because I really knew what I wanted, but because I just didn’t see any other way. Don’t misunderstand me, the responsibility of my life choices is mine, and mine alone. I’m not really sure why I felt the need to comply with the expectations around me. Maybe because I’m a first born daughter? And certain expectations fall with that title whether you want them to or not. Graduate high school. Bloom. Graduate college. Bloom. Join the workforce. Bloom. Get married with some type of ridiculous wedding. Bloom. Have children. Bloom. Keep the house a home. Bloom. These are all beautiful and good, and ways we all bloom in the light of day! And I grew all those blossoms. Made myself a neat and tidy little bouquet. Exactly what everyone expected I would do.
Except….
As a youngster, I knew something was different about me. In 3rd grade I dressed up as a gypsy for Halloween. Most kids my age didn’t even know what a gypsy was. I exceled at writing and took art classes outside of school. I felt comfortable there, out of the limelight behind a pencil or a paintbrush. Somewhere along the way those gypsy ideals didn’t seem realistic to sustain me, and I formed a checklist of life that was logical yet felt like an ominous cloud. Flowers don’t bloom well in cloudy weather. Maybe that’s why it didn’t exactly work out, and many of those flowers on my checklist withered and died in many ways. Writing to express this collection has led me to a deeper understanding of myself. All this time my bohemian side didn’t need a shining bright scorching heat to open it up. Rather a soft and luminous, patient glow, content to listen and wait for me. The light of other expectations drowned out the moonlit whispers I had within. I admired so much the confidence of those around me and still do. The valedictorians, the actors, the athletes, and the activists. They can bloom so magnificently in the spotlight! I commend them! But I let that distract me from finding my own light, in my own time. I let my own misinterpreted expectations force me open, when I really wanted to stay closed.
Now, to me, expectations can feel like a performance. Bloom bright, fast, and on schedule. Similar how we know and expect so many flowers to bloom in the spring beneath the warmth of the sun. It’s taken me all my life to understand, that for me, expectations are like prison bars. In order for me to be able to genuinely bloom I mustn’t be commanded. I don’t need the heat of expectation to insist I become something all at once. I open more slowly, under a softer glow. I do not wish to be rewarded with measure of growth or speed. I do not compete. I do not care if you bloom first. I do not need that attention.
What I do need is the soft light of listening. To be able to unfurl to a whisper and my own intuition rather than expectation. To connect through patient conversation. Under the light of the moon becoming is not an obligation or about proving I can check the boxes. There, blooming relies on comfort, trust, and the quiet relief of knowing that even in the dark, behind my pencil and my paintbrush, I am enough.
I fully admire the bold and beauty of the flowers that bloom in the light of day. I do not envy that they can so confidently open in the sun in front of everyone. Maybe I used to, just a little. But that was before I realized what I need to blossom. If and when I chose to open it will be in my time without fear of being seen too soon. I am guided by intuition, not obligation. I’ve always laughed my insecurities off as being a late bloomer. I realize now, that being “late”, holds in itself a negative connotation. I mistakenly mislabeled me. I am NOT a late bloomer. I am a moonflower.
Are you a moonflower, too?
