Living Life In Colors

Lately, I have been thinking about how adulthood has a way of revealing itself quietly. Not in the big moments. Not in birthdays or promotions or the things we are taught to celebrate. But in ordinary weekends. Weekends that, when you look back, were doing far more inside you than you realized while you were living them.

Tgis weekend was one of those weekends. It had so many layers. I joined a community farm. My hands disappeared into the soil. I learnt how to prepare the beds, how to make the walkways, how to plant. I covered little pepper seeds with earth and, for a moment, I remembered being a child. Back then, we planted too. We watched beans sprout from the ground with all the excitement children have. Sometimes we never stayed long enough to eat what we had planted. We only witnessed the beginning. This time feels different. This time I might get to witness the harvest. There is something deeply hopeful about that.

When my friend asked if I felt grounded, I said yes. But if I'm honest... I don't think the grounding happened there. It happened later. When I got home. When I sat with the silence. When I realised I had spent a day being useful. Useful to people. Useful to the land. Useful to myself. There is a quiet kind of healing in leaving a place knowing something will grow because your hands were there.

That same weekend, I went to the beach. As always. I massaged strangers. I Met new people. Collected new colours. Christy came back too. This time she brought more friends. That made me smile. There is something beautiful about people returning. It tells you the first encounter became a memory worth repeating. I worked on eleven people that Sunday.

At some point I thought no one has bought teA. Eventually I sold tea. The first person who bought tea later booked me for a home massage.

And before the day ended, I had made enough to breathe a little easier. Enough to prepare for my daughter's birthday. Enough to remind me that provision rarely arrives all at once.

Sometimes it arrives conversation by conversation.Person by person. Seed by seed.

Today, while thinking about all of this, another thought arrived. Thirteen years ago, around this same time, I was already in labour. In a few hours, I would bring a child into the world. Just a few days ago, I placed tiny pepper seeds into the earth. Life keeps asking me to nurture something. A child, a seed. a business, stranger's tired feet. Even hope.

Maybe that is what adulthood has been trying to teach me all along. We are always planting something. Sometimes we plant knowing we will harvest. Sometimes we plant simply because somebody has to believe tomorrow is worth preparing for. This week has reminded me that I am surrounded by grace. A free exhibition for my business, Unexpected clients, Returning faces, New friendships, Fresh soil beneath my fingernails.

It has been emotional. Beautifully emotional. And tonight... I am simply grateful. Grateful for the seeds I have planted. Grateful for the people who keep watering me without even knowing it. And grateful that life, despite everything, still keeps growing.