My mom used to always say that “anticipation is half the fun.” I never understood what she meant, until I became an adult. I soon realized that it is the anticipation of what is to come that propels us through life sometimes. It is the waiting, the dreaming and the yearning for something that makes its arrival only that much sweeter.
Perhaps the event I most anticipate is Spring. With the start of the frigid winter weather this week, I already know that around mid-January, I will be longing for signs of spring, a promise that there will brighter days ahead after a cold, rainy winter. There is one magnificent flower bush in particular that I especially watch all during the dreary, rainy winter months. It sits near our house, and I pass by it frequently. Even before winter begins, it already cradles an array of delicate buds. Without fail, it is the very first flower to burst through and display its pink radiance. It happens around late February, although around late January the buds that sit so dormant all winter begin to anxiously swell. In fact, I can almost feel the energy in the air when I walk by them; it is like trying to hold back a valiant racehorse from rushing out of the starting gates too soon. Every time I walk past those buds, I glance at them, and it reassures me that even though the winter seems interminable, there is something beautiful ahead. They sit, all nestled together, enduring the wind, the sleet, and the darkness. They just exist; not noticed by most, but to me they are truly a hope I watch and wait for with eager anticipation.
And because I wait so long for them, their brilliance excites me just the same each year. They symbolize renewal and growth, and a fresh start. They are a longing satisfied. Their raw, dewy scent refreshes the staleness that collects within me. They are my prize, for never losing faith that they would indeed bloom. They dazzle the neighborhood for but a few weeks; but too soon their edges start to wither. They crumble inward; the life in them tumbles to the ground below. I want to hold on to them, because I waited so many months for their arrival. But I know that they must die, because if they didn’t, they couldn’t grow again. And I wouldn’t have anything to anticipate.
And anticipation is half the fun.
What then would I have to assure me that winter will not last forever?
Now I wasn't planning on getting philosophical in this entry today, but I see life in metaphors. Therefore, this metaphor just popped out to me....so here I go:
If it were not for the death of something, how could something new begin to grow? If it were not for the sad good-byes, how could we anticipate the reunion again? It is important to remember that whatever we are anticipating or dreaming about, we are experiencing the joy of it right at that moment. The attainment of it can often times be a let down! What consumed our thoughts for so long is finally fulfilled; and we have vacant thoughts, and empty space. So, what I am saying, is that we must remember to enjoy the moments of anticipation, because it is this that propels us forward.
Wilting and tumbling to the ground below, these flowers are gone before spring even begins. However, as I peer down in the crevice between a single leaf and its connection to the branch, I notice a very small notch. It is barely observable, unless a person knows what they are looking for.
But I know what it is. And I will wait. For I am already excited by the beauty of it.
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