I love orchids and am in awe of how they often “rebloom.” After their flowers fall, I’ll trim back the dead stems and put them on a windowsill, hoping new life will form. There’s something about the regenerative nature of this plant that brings me joy.
However, yesterday I sensed a tinge of disappointment that the upper branches of a favorite plant failed to produce buds. While there were gorgeous yellow and pink flowers on one of the established stems, there was no hint of future blooms on the other three.
It became apparent that I expected this plant to look like it did when I first bought it – all stems blooming with magnificent flowers. But this orchid had not returned to its former self. Instead, it appeared as something new.
Later in the day, I took another glance at this plant. This time, I saw a horizontal sprout with six tiny buds coming from the bottom, near the leaves. How had I missed this?
Admittedly, I had been focusing on the established stems that hadn’t flowered. And in the process of fixating at what I deemed missing, I failed to witness the beautiful development below.
This made me think. If I looked at my plant this way, do I also follow this pattern with people? Am I capable of seeing change in others, or do I expect them to show up as they always have?
Change is the only constant in life. Nothing remains the same … not places, societies, or people. The older I become, the more I recognize the importance of embracing individuals’ transformations. Admittedly, this can be difficult when those I hold closest to my heart evolve differently than I assume. Relationships once understood can shift, suddenly seeming confusing, unfamiliar. Others may make unexpected choices or adopt totally new perspectives on life. No longer can I read the person as I once could.
Looking at my orchid made me wonder … Have some of the people I most love bloomed in unexpected ways? Am I missing out on who they are now because I’ve clung to who they once were?
Part of the human experience is having the option to change and evolve. And unless we embrace these transitions in others, we cannot expect them to accept the changes we choose. Still, it’s natural to be confused when others show up differently. We’re used to a predictable response and can feel caught off guard by unanticipated behavior. We may question their motives, belief systems, and intentions. Or we may imagine we’ve done something wrong, thinking, Why are they acting like this? It’s not who they are?
Or is it?
Just as we reserve the right to shed our past and step into our true selves, we must grant another the prerogative to do the same. Often in this process of a loved one’s metamorphosis, it may feel as though the person we knew no longer exists. We may even accept that they’ve changed, but we don’t understand who they’ve become.
When a shift in another confuses me, it’s usually because I’ve formed unrealistic expectations centered on the past. Not only is this unfair to the person, but it also creates frustration within me. But when I release my hold on what was, I can begin to embrace what is. I find it helpful to become curious, ask questions, and listen instead of relying on old patterns to predict how someone will act.
I suppose it’s most common to fall into this trap with our oldest relationship … dear friends, our children, our spouse, and even our parents. Images of the past cement in our mind, and we tend to expect the familiar. Yet, that’s unrealistic. Besides, if we continue to hold others to who they were, we miss out on experiencing the beauty of who they are becoming.
My office is filled with framed pictures of our sons as babies, toddlers, and young children. Yet, as precious as those memories are, who our sons are today is no longer who they once were. They’ve grown, evolved, changed into amazing men. Yes, I can treasure the stories from their childhood. However, if I assume they will behave similarly to how they did in second grade or when they turned sixteen, I’m bound to be disappointed.
But there’s more … if I fail to see how our sons have developed into men and continue to view them as “my kids,” I’ll miss out on fully embracing who they truly are.
Anticipating a familiar reaction or failing to see unfamiliar growth in others stunts our relationship. Yes, part of me will always want our sons to be my little boys. I’d guess many moms share this sentiment. But if I’m able to leave those familiar assumptions in the picture frames—where they truly belong—I find myself falling in love with the men they are today instead of holding on to the little boys they used to be.
Perhaps I should add some updated pictures to my office … current snapshots of these two incredible guys. And while I’m at it, it’s time to start appreciating all blossoms on my orchid plants, releasing the need for them to appear as they once did.
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