Finding Meaning in Color and Growth

The house smells of lilac and damp earth this morning, a scent I’ve been intentionally cultivating since the autumn equinox gathering. Phyllis says it’s “atmospheric,” but I think it's more that I’m finally letting things *grow*, not just in the garden beds – though those are flourishing – but within myself. It started with the astrology, really. Suddenly, all those charts and symbols weren’t just academic exercises; they felt… relevant. Like a key to unlock something I hadn’t fully understood before.

It's curious how a shift in attention can completely alter perception. Before, the stars were an interesting aside, a gentle hum at the edges of my teaching life. Now? They are the center. And through that centering, I see things differently – patterns where there was only chaos, potential where I’d only seen limitations. It’s like recognizing a melody you'd always heard faintly, finally able to discern its full notes and harmonies.

I’ve been thinking a lot about color lately, too. Not in any conscious way at first, but just noticing the ways things *feel*. The muted greens of my new azaleas – grounding, supportive, like a well-worn shawl. The deep blues of the sky after rain – expansive, calming, a space for thought to unfurl. It’s not about designing a perfectly curated aesthetic; it's about understanding what colors offer, and if they are actually serving me.

You know, there was a period—and I don't like to dwell on it—where I believed my emotions were something to be contained, suppressed even. The expectation of strength from caregivers left deep scars, you see. Now, I find myself drawn to these shades that seem to *allow* for feeling – the courage to acknowledge the discomfort, rather than trying to bury it beneath a veneer of control. It’s as if recognizing my need for openness has unlocked something new in me; maybe this is what truly creates space for inspiration.

I've been particularly fascinated by the idea that creatives gravitate toward certain colors, and frankly, I find it almost… comforting. The notion that there isn’t a single "right" answer, that color choices are rooted in something deeper than mere aesthetics – a recognition of our own inner landscapes. It feels less like a prescription and more like an invitation to pay closer attention to the world around me, and to myself within it.

There's a strange thing about managing expectations, isn’t there? Like arranging china – beautiful, intricate pieces that can easily shatter under pressure. I’ve been preoccupied with the echoes of my family’s desires—this game, “Chinese Parents,” feels like an attempt to impose order onto what felt, at times, like utter chaos. It's a reminder that sometimes, simply letting things be—allowing for the unpredictable flow—is the most creative act of all.

And then there’s green. It reminds me of Elphaba in *Wicked*, and I was thinking about how strong it is – resilience, new growth. And Phyllis says, “Atmospheric!” but really, I just want the space to breathe, to spread, to feel fully alive.

I suppose what it all boils down to is this: a quiet surrender to possibility. A willingness to let things unfold without forcing them into a predetermined shape. To embrace the shifts, the transitions, the unexpected turns – and, perhaps most importantly, to notice the colors that reflect the changing landscape of my own heart.