Room to Grow

 Two years ago, I was given a small potted plant. I can't remember the official name, but I'm going to call it a daisy for our purposes. (Maybe I should title this blog, "I don't actually know anything about anything.")

Hang on.  Google tells me it was most likely a "Shasta Daisy," or for those who like scientific terms, "Leucanthemum." It looked something like this (thanks again, Google) --  

Pretty, right?

When we moved to our new-to-us house, my husband planted the Shasta Daisy in our garden. We closed on our house in April 2020 (one of the last closings in our county before the massive shutdown), so that means the Shasta Daisy has been in the garden for roughly 18 months. The plant now looks like this -- 

Under there somewhere is a sidewalk. I never expected this plant to grow the way it has. (Experienced gardeners are shaking their heads at my naïveté, and that's totally ok with me. Shake away, my Shasta-Daisy-Know-It-Alls who probably call these things "Leucanthemums.") 

But, really, we never know how much growth is possible until there is room to grow. Think about it: if I had left the plant in its 9-inch pot, it would have served the purpose of being small and pretty for a short time. When given space to spread out and take up its rightful place, becoming a giant in the garden, blissfully ignoring manmade boundaries and blooming away October after October. 

We all adjust to our given parameters. Fish will only grow as big as their tank allows; the same goes for many other animals . . . and humans. We become comfortable in our given space, whether in our professional or personal lives. We can become afraid of change, because, well, it's called a comfort zone for a reason. It can be unsettling to move, to change -- just as my little Shasta Daisy was surprised to find itself out of the pot and in a large garden. Some plants don't survive the shock of transplanting. Some people don't, either, I suppose. 

But, when we take it one day at a time and embrace our room to grow, before we know it, we can become fully who we were meant to be. Sometimes, that requires another change, a bigger garden, let's say. (Hermit crabs come to mind here, exchanging their shells as they grow, but I prefer not to mix my metaphors, so we are sticking with Shasta Daisies.)

I recently left a secure comfort zone in my career -- a place I had worked for over a decade, a place I loved (and still love). I'm now discovering I have room to grow, to evolve as a leader and educator. While it was difficult for me to leave my former place of employment, after devoting years of my life there, the decision to change positions was a good one. Not all decisions to change are good, of course. But when that happens, we have correct our course, which can be challenging. 

I suppose the moral of my humble tale is that we all deserve room to grow, to become fully who we are meant to be. Don't allow anything or anyone to stifle your largeness. You are meant to expand, not contract. Every time I walk by these Shasta Daisies, I am reminded: You are meant to grow. We all are.