After the Seeds Have Sprouted

It’s May now. Most of the seeds have already been started. Some are up. Some are growing. Some surprised me and showed up when I wasn’t paying attention. And some… didn’t.

I’ve been thinking about how ideas work the same way. I have what I call my 4 a.m. musings—those early morning thoughts that feel clear and full of possibility. At 4 a.m., they sound like something worth following. Then morning comes, and I start to question them. Is this really a good idea? Will people care about this? Does this even matter right now?

That’s usually where I hesitate. I tell myself I’ll come back to it, give it a little time, let it get clearer. Maybe in a couple of weeks, I’ll know what to do with it. But I don’t. I just… leave it there.

I see this pattern in more places than I’d like to admit—in my writing, in this coaching work, even in the garden. It isn’t that I don’t care. It’s that I hesitate.

Part of it is the world we’re living in. People are dealing with real things. Heavy things. And here I am, thinking about reflection, seasons, and what comes next. Sometimes that feels out of place, like maybe there isn’t room for it right now.

And if I’m being honest, there’s another question underneath all of that—one I don’t say out loud very often. Is this enough? Am I enough to do this?

I don’t like sitting with that. It’s easier to stay in the thinking, the reworking, the waiting. But even with all the questioning, the same thoughts keep coming back. What do I want now? What’s changing for me? Why does this feel harder than I expected?

Even now, I still find myself asking what’s next for me, how I want to show up in the world, what actually feeds my sense of purpose, my happiness, my strength.

And when I talk to other women, I hear it there too—maybe not in the same words, but in the pauses, the uncertainty, the curiosity, the sense that something is shifting underneath.

So I’m trying something different. Instead of waiting until I feel clear, or confident, or sure this will “go somewhere”… I’m starting smaller. Not big plans or fully formed ideas. Just small, imperfect starts. A few words on the page. Sitting down even when I’m not sure what I’m trying to say. Letting something exist before I decide if it’s good enough.

It reminds me of this time in the garden. The seeds have already germinated. Now they’re being transplanted, pushed to keep growing. And this is where things don’t always go as planned. Some take off. Some struggle. Some look promising and then stall out, even when I’ve done everything “right.”

But I still plant them anyway. I give them space, water them, pay attention. I don’t wait until I’m guaranteed a perfect result before putting them in the ground.

With my ideas, I’ve been wanting more certainty than that—more security, more proof that something will work before I give it my time. But that’s not how this works. Not in the garden. Not here either.

So this is what I’m doing right now. Starting things without knowing how they’ll turn out. Giving them a place to grow. Giving them my attention.

Like my dahlia tubers—which don’t look like much when they go into the ground… a little rough, a little uncertain… and still capable of becoming something full and unexpected.

I don’t know exactly what this will look like yet. But I’m giving it a chance to grow.