Beautiful Things

I’m 30 years old, a husband, a serial overthinker and the father of a little girl.

She’s only three but already inspirational to me in so many ways. She’s full of life, she’s joyful and connected to the moment. Traits that don’t come naturally to me. She’s witty. She’s vibrant. She’s in charge. (at least she wants to be). If there was a toddler tech start up she’d be running it.

She has an unsuspecting kryptonite though..

The other day I heard her screaming from her room “ Daddy! Daddy! Get it off! Get it off!” My heart sunk thinking there was a large animal invading her room or possibly a poisonous bug. I ran in her room ready for war. Nothing was going to harm my baby on my watch! No sir. As I rounded the corner into her room I saw her flailing on her bed, still yelling out of her mind.

“What’s wrong Honey?? What is it?” She pointed to the middle of her bed where all the commotion was centered around. There it was. I was taken aback by its size (lack there of, rather), and relieved. It was a tiny clump of dirt. No bigger than half a green pea. I quickly swept it away and saved the day. I was a hero!

Not long after this incident we had another run in with her nemesis. Her and I were walking down the street near our apartment. She loves flowers and stopped to pick one that was growing in a planter. When she picked it, she grabbed it near the bottom of the stem and pulled up the roots along with the stem. She was so excited to show me what she pick until she noticed that the root ball, along with clumps of dirt woven in to the root system was touching the bottom of her hand. She let out a gasp and threw the flower to the ground. All was well for a few seconds until she saw dirt had stuck to her hand. Unable to control her fear she started crying and yelling for me to “Get it off! Get it off!” I did what any good dad would do. Instead of helping, I gave her a lecture in the moment of her crisis: “Honey, it’s just dirt. It’s not going to hurt you.”

I realized that we had a phobia on our hands. The kid is terrified of dirt. Little did she know when picking her favorite flower that beneath it was her kryptonite. Her enemy. Her Lex Luther. Her bowser. I hope i’m not around the day she finds out she’s standing on a giant ball of it.

But without it, the pretty things she loves wouldn’t be here. The dirt has its place. She may hate it. She may scream when she see’s it. But in the end, she’s standing on top of it. And the dirt produces her favorite things.

In my writings I hope to inspire you to see your pain in this way. It’s messy, it can stick on you, it can be heavy and all over. But in the end, you can stand on it. You can succeed not in spite of it, but because of it. Trauma and trials aren’t the end of you, they’re the beginning. Through them hope and resilience are born.

I don’t say this lightly. I know what it’s like to be down bad. I know what it’s like to feel alone when you’re in a crowded room. I know what it’s like to feel like the world has lost its color.

In those times I never would have imagined that one day I’d be grateful for the pain I was in such a hurry to get off. Yet today I am. Those times made me who I am.

Don’t despise the dirt. It grows the most beautiful things.