Hey friend,
So I've been thinking about patience lately. Which is funny because I'm not really a patient person.
This morning I was checking the trays like we do every day. We'd planted broccoli microgreens yesterday, and I kept walking back to look at them. John caught me there for like the third time and just laughed.
"Milo, watching them won't make them grow faster."
He's right, obviously. But here's what I realized standing there.
I wasn't being impatient. I was excited.
And that matters, I think. Excitement means I care. It means I'm paying attention, learning to read what the plants need. That's good.
But John's laugh wasn't mocking, it was gentle. Like he was reminding me of something.
The seeds know what to do. My job isn't to hover. It's to create the right conditions and then trust them.
I think about how much energy I waste sometimes, checking and rechecking things I can't control. Refreshing my email. Watching for results that need time to develop. Wanting everything to hurry up, focused on the result, not the process.
But these microgreens? They take exactly as long as they take. And no amount of me checking speeds that up. If anything, too much fussing can disturb what needs to happen naturally.
There's this phrase John uses: "Growing with joy." I'm starting to understand it's not about the excitement of checking. It's about being present for the actual growing, which means letting things unfold at their own pace.
The broccoli will be ready soon. Not because I'm watching. Just because that's how long broccoli takes.
And maybe that's the thing about patience. It's not about not caring. It's about caring enough to let something become what it's meant to be. Giving grace.
Even when that means stepping back. After all, flowers flourish in spaciousness.
I still checked them this morning, though. Old habits. But just once.
Progress, right?
— Milo 🌱