We Are Born a Garden

“Become who you are.” — Friedrich Nietzsche

The Soil We Begin With

We enter this world as a unique plot of land. Each of us with our own particular shape, location, and the weather patterns that follow. Some patches receive abundant sunlight, others more shade. Some soil comes rich with nutrients, while other ground is rocky and requires more effort to cultivate. But regardless of these starting conditions, we are all gardens primed for growth.

Growth is our very nature. The question isn’t whether we will grow, but what we will grow.

Seeds and Adjacent Gardens

Let’s assume some seeds came pre-planted in our soil through genetics or early childhood experiences. These first sprouts emerge before we–the observer we call “I”–are there. In the early days, it’s how we’re tended to that most sets our path, and what’s more telling over time are the garden patches adjacent to ours: What’s growing in them? Whose cultivation methods do we witness daily?

Day by day, we grow what lands on our little patch of earth. Seeds carried by winds of circumstance, by birds of chance encounters, by the deliberate plantings of those who tend to us in our early years. If we’re lucky, the seeds that germinate are right for us—they grow into plants that nourish us and those around us.

The Moment of Recognition

Then, at some magical point, we become.

For many of us, there comes a pivotal moment when we truly see our garden for the first time. We arrive at the place where we recognize ourselves, and sometimes we don’t like what we see. Invasive weeds are wedged into every crevice. Beliefs that don’t serve us have taken root. Habits that drain our vitality have sprawled across the landscape.

But now we’re there. Now we see, so we have a choice.

Becoming the Gardener

Some of us begin gardening.

This shift—from being merely the garden to becoming the gardener of our own experience—is perhaps the most profound transformation in human development. It’s the moment we accept that while we didn’t choose our starting conditions, we now have agency in what continues to grow here.

The gardening isn’t easy. Weeds have deep roots. Some beautiful flowers come with thorns, others attract parasites. Some areas of soil have become uninhabitable by years of neglect and require patience. Aeration before anything new can grow. Years of slow recuperation.

But slowly, mindfully, we cultivate. We remove what doesn’t serve us. We plant, grow, pull up, and try again.

Those who practice eventually become more intentional. We learn which patterns help what we want to see blossom in our particular ecosystem and which ones leave us depleted. If we’re lucky, we can find meaning in every inch of our plot of land, every moment of choice.

Seasons of the Self

Like all living landscapes, our personal gardens move through seasons. There are springs of rapid growth and inspiration, summers of abundance, autumns of release, and winters of quiet renewal beneath the surface.

Recognizing these rhythms lets us work with them. We learn not to force growth during necessary dormancy. We don’t panic when leaves fall, understanding that losses make room for new life. We trust the process when nothing seems to be happening on the surface, knowing that important work continues unseen.

The attentive gardener learns that fighting against these seasons only creates suffering. Instead, we align our efforts with the natural rhythms of our being, knowing when to push forward and when to allow things to lie fallow.

Perhaps most importantly, we develop patience—that rare quality that recognizes that meaningful growth cannot be rushed, only nurtured consistently over time. The oak tree doesn’t apologize for taking decades to reach its full height.

The Garden in Community

No garden exists in isolation. Our plot of land sits within a neighborhood of gardens interacting with one another. Pollen drifts. Seeds scatter. Lichen creep. The shade from one tree affects what grows in its shadow next door.

In recognizing this interconnection, we understand that how we tend our garden matters not just for ourselves but for the collective. The fruits we grow nourish more than just ourselves. The care we cultivate will reflect and replicate around us. The healthy ecosystem we foster is more than our own.

The Infinite Game of Gardening

There is no “finished” state to our gardens. No point at which we can wipe our hands clean and declare ourselves complete. The garden continues to grow and change as long as we live. Seasons shift. New challenges emerge. Different plants become possible as we evolve.

This is not a finite game with winners and losers, but an infinite game of continued cultivation. The joy is in the tending itself—in the daily practice of becoming more.

What seeds are you planting today? What weeds might need gentle removal? What areas of your garden are you ready to explore anew?

The garden awaits your attention.