Bloom True, Guest Post by KathyB

June 3rd, 2011

Break out the streamers, cue the band.  This is my first guest post ever.  As the song goes, I am movin’ on up to the East Side. Thank you, Leah!

Wait a minute . . .  guest post = write/create something, doesn’t it?  I hadn’t considered that part.  Guess I will need to resort to my time-trusted method of jumpstarting my writing process: I will look it up in the dictionary.

Turns out that “metamorphosis” is another word that I employed countless times in a million different ways – perhaps it was part of a joke, other times it might have been the means by which I tried to describe a profound personal experience – but I haven’t always hit the target when I used it.  Having read through the definition and etymology of this term, I won’t go so far as to say I have been using it incorrectly all these years, let’s just say I have tossed this phrase out a little carelessly.

I have been known to announce I was in the midst of a metamorphosis, but apparently that is not entirely true.  Based on my interpretation, one does not undergo a metamorphosis; one experiences a series of small changes over time, which on their own puts you on the road to progress, but after they have accumulated to the correct degree – now that is the metamorphosis.  The intended result.   Any interference or rushing of the process will only slow or damage the outcome.  (translation: stop trying to control everything!)

Speaking of metamorphosis, a few weeks ago I turned fifty – how’s that for waking up on a runaway train?  Talk about not noticing the small changes until it’s too late.  I am trying my best to let fifty saturate my being and welcome the changes as they approach.   I am going to work with what I have and hope it will deliver me to something even more wonderful than what is now.  

That being said, insult was added to injury when I accompanied my soon-to-be 15 year-old son to his annual physical this morning.  When the examination was complete, his doctor escorted him to the reception desk, declared him to be a unique specimen of youth and strength, and informed me that in the past year he has catapulted from the 70th percentile up to the 90th, and he shows no signs of stopping.  It goes without saying that I am thrilled that my boy is strong and healthy – I take the same pride in his lean muscles as I did in his chubby baby thighs, but I just had to laugh at our two prerogatives as we left the appointment.  There was me, clutching the steering wheel, hyper focused on every little twinge and ache, wondering if it’s possible for me to recover what I had – or is it really lost?  Can I at least hang on to what I have left?  In the next seat there’s my teen wanting the world to “bring it on.” He wants everything and is grabbing it with both hands, eager to see what’s next, ready for the unknown.  His body changes are thrilling to him, every adjustment is pure nirvana.  Me?  I feel hunkered down, peaking around corners, wishing I could pick and choose what is coming next for me.   At times like this, all you can do is laugh and keep driving.

I cannot control change; I can try to understand that its timing will never be predictable, its presence not always noticeable.  It is inevitable and every once in awhile (like today) its stealth will blow me away.    I will hope and dream and try to point myself in the right direction, keeping in mind that it is not possible to engineer my life, but perhaps I can excavate it. 

Your grandmother told you.  Your best friend said it.  I’ll bet even Oprah would remind you.

We cannot choose the day or time when we will fully bloom.  It happens in its own time.

-Dennis Waitley

All I am asking for right now it to hold on to my petals for a little longer.


KathyB lives and writes in the woody suburbs of Boston, and blogs about whatever she feels like at One of the first things she will tell you is she is one of seven sisters, which should explain a lot. She is also a sedentary bookworm who has somehow found herself married to the most athletic, high-energy man on the planet, and together they have one very tall son who is about to finish his first year of high school. When it comes to blogging she still feels like a sapling surrounded by redwoods, but is beginning to feel a little bit taller every day.

7 Responses

No worries. The fifties are great. Definitely a great time for blooming!


Kudos on your debut as a guest post blogger! Stellar job…

Kathy – wonderful post! I started fretting over “what 50 means” at 49, and continued all the way to 60 at which point I decided that whatever it meant (and it sure does mean a lot of coming to terms body wise) was over and done and welcome 60 where I can wear red hats and purple dresses with mismatched stripped socks and not care – more important things to get on with. I also have to say: the 50s were a gateway for me, much as my 20s. If it progresses the way the 30s and 40s did, then the 70s will be the best ever and at 79 I’ll be fretting over what 80 means!

what a great inspirational posting,, wooo hoo,, I’m in my fifties and I never really think of my age,, it helps taht my eye sight is poor,, but I feel beautiful on the inside,, thats what counts to me,, love this post,, wonderful,

I did not truly come alive until I was 50. Isn’t that stange. I think you figure out what is important in your life. I can only be grateful that my 50’s have turned out to be the best times of my life! I agree with Kathy I think it is going to get better and better! I think you can choose to sit there and mourne you youth or you can learn to live to the fullest! I choose to live to the fullest!! Life is great!

Great post Kathy! And Leah we need to meet that little of yours soon!

Allowing ourselves to bloom in different ways makes life much sweeter! Thanks for this message. Keep at your creative endeavors and enjoy life :)

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