Poetry is Good for America
From the square plots,
Of clipped Kentucky rye,
And perfect planters,
Where porch colors fly.
To solace in the weeds,
Growing, flowing, refuse,
In between the cracks,
Of neglect and abuse.
“Gone native” they say,
As if it’s progress undone.
But nothing is ironed here,
Except the will to be one.
Recently I was reminded that when things may not turn out as we may have hoped, that it isn’t actually failure. However, I couldn’t understand how that could be. How could it not be failure if attempting to get into a program, finishing a project, or completing a task didn’t result in accomplishment?
Perspective.
That’s was what I was failing to see. From a completely different perspective I could see that what I wanted to accomplish had already taken place and my sense of failure was a realization that the universe was informing me of my next step. The perceived failure was just a moment in time – that particular path wasn’t right for me.
Sometimes we all need a realization of what isn’t the right fit and having that perspective is valuable to say the least.
A small reminder that not all paths are perfectly planned.