Last words for this year

During the closing days of 2019 and all the years before it that I can remember, there was no shortage of wishes for a better new year. I won't be telling you about my hopes for the coming year because, to be honest, I have none. Human will and wants are inconsequential in this great cog of events that happen simply because they happen. Was 2020 really THAT bad? Or is it only a trick of false perspective because most of us weren't yet alive when those great wars laid down immeasurable misery and that there is no way of knowing if the coming years would be worse? Whether we admit it or not, it only gets more and more dreadful each passing year. Calamities are increasing in frequency and destructive power and the degradation of human behavior translates to new lows which we never thought we'd witness a mere few years before. And, everybody dies. Whether he's an athlete for the ages or your next door bum, everybody is heading towards that inevitable finality. It's all immaterial and we are a vulnerable species deluding ourselves that our technology and resources can provide shelter. Our hopes and superstitions cannot save us. Such are only vain attempts to foresee an unpredictable future and expect it to sway in our favor. And so my mindset has shifted into providing myself and my family with insulation from the things that are happening and will happen because, to be frank, that is where I have complete power with. And I am communicating this to you because by setting small, reachable goals instead of grand yet amorphous ones, then we may be able to make our world- not this world- a slightly better one and carry on from there.

Gardening has always provided me with an escape, a commune with the mind amidst the hollow din of everyday routines and social media pollution. And how I wish more people will take the time to provide themselves with moments of introspection because only there will we be able to objectively determine if what we have committed ourselves to is really worth it. Bake, create music, draw... these sort of things can peel back the layers of grime that have accumulated and ushered us into unfamiliar paths. One of these days I see myself asking the manager of our local grocery chain if I can leave some potted plants that customers can pick up for free. Of course, some boor with an oily rag for a soul might sell the plant that s/he chose but that is beyond my power. What I can do, what I can control, is what I can do for and share to others. Wish lists, I have none because 1. my taste fluctuates and a plant I may be dying to have at this moment may not occupy my head a couple of months from now, and 2. I want my plant acquisitions to be totally unpredictable. Instead of putting down a list I am looking forward for more plant swaps. It's more organic and far more exciting for me than hunting down a plant I badly want only to find out that it's already beyond my means (thanks to the plantfluencers). Besides, I don't shoot for only a single group or a few genera of plants. I am much more promiscuous than that. However, I would like to hope that all these bitcoin spammers will finally get a life or that there will be fewer people who still don't get it why old leaves turn yellow.

But if you really want to press me and ask how I see 2021, my answer will likely be this: "paved roads interspersed with potholes here and there and landslid sections that fork to dead ends and dirt roads, some of which offer something new, and some that lead to long and lonely highways of ambiguity and uncertainty. And oh, there will probably be more rains than sun, too." So pack that map, prepare your tool kits, don't forget to bring extra batteries for your flashlights, and be sure to have plenty of snacks and water along the way. You can even play The Traveling Wilburys' 'End of the Line' if you want a little soundtrack for your jaunt. Just remember to always keep moving on, and every once in a while, pull over and take the time to stop and sniff a flower.