Repotting, Wind, and Crickets

My cousin asked me if I sat on my porch. The afternoon air whispered softly as we repotted plants. Where I currently live, there’s a large porch that rests in the middle of the city. One the oozes southern charm. It wraps around the front of my home and is lined with trees, flowers, and a manicured lawn. “Tee, do you sit out here?” It was her first time in my “new place”. I had moved here a little over 2 years ago and this was the first time she had physically seen my space. “Nah, girl. I’m never really out here.” Of course she looked at me strangely.

I am a girl from the inner city. Our homes are in rows and connected. We have small patches of land, miniatures lawns, a backyard, or a patio; never both. I now have both and I never sit long enough to enjoy it. I walk in and in out; letting the door greet and bid me adieu. It is my distinct attempt to avoid my neighbors and fall ever more into my introverted shell. Unexpected lengthy interactions are exhausting. Yet, this summer, on my porch with my cousin, I was told “Tee, I mean, you can hear your crickets.”

It was with her that my home door no longer locked so swiftly. In the silence of gathering soil, repotting plants, and intermittent laughter I reveled in the night air, on my porch. Instantly, I was reminded of all the things that I learned throughout a year of sitting silently. 2020 most certainly was an annual moment of solitude. It was only then that I learned:

1. Slowing down isn’t a sign of weakness. Rest is radical and necessary.
2. Unfinished business will remain an untethered load until I decide to tie it and remove it.
3. Joy comes in the form of naps, good meals and simple connections. Life can easily be that simple.

As the crickets chirped, and the breeze slowly swayed the branches that lined my walk way I again responded, “Nah girl, I’m never really out here.” Yet, in my mind I thought, I’m going to start.