From Restlessness to Dandelion Days

Finding Wonder in the Pause

Morning Walk Reflections 4.4.25

This morning, my routine was disrupted by an enthusiastic puppy demanding an early start. No contemplative moments before heading outdoors—perhaps that was today's lesson: allow for more serendipity.

We're technically on Spring Break this week, which stirs memories of years past when this meant coordinated family adventures—all five of us embracing the moment together, making travel and exploration synonymous with education.

The contrast with today is striking.

My eldest is deep into final college exams, spring break already behind her. Another is enjoying coastal days with a friend, while our middle child has created her independent life, working and chasing dreams of her own.

For me, this spring break arrives as a welcome respite—not for adventuring but for staying close to home. Gardening. Completing projects. Honoring sleep.

And yes, training a puppy.

Yet something curious happened today—an urge to truly pause. To take one day completely off. To read, relax, and follow my whims.

What surprised me was my internal resistance to this very idea.

How is it that being home automatically triggers the imperative to be productive? My eyes can only see unfinished tasks demanding attention—pollen-covered surfaces and two weeks' worth of neglected cleaning that my yard-working, house-painting body has neither energy nor back strength to tackle.

I walked with this restlessness today, this inability to simply relax, and found myself observing it with genuine curiosity—like holding a prism to the light and staring in wonder.

While watering newly planted additions to the garden, I noticed dandelions scattered throughout, each in different stages of being. One particular bloom caught my attention near a freshly planted white azalea—small in diameter but radiantly yellow. Not far away stood a mature dandelion, transformed into its delicate globe of seeds ready for wishes and wind.

And there it was—my permission to wonder: "How long does it take to go from this yellow bloom to that white ball of wishes?"

This will be my whimsy today, my curiosity project. I'll photograph this little dandelion daily and count the days of transformation. No Google searches, just nature's timing. My guess? Eight days. Something tells me that would be just enough time to witness meaningful change while still requiring patience—a lesson I clearly need to practice.

Now I just need to create a fortress around my subject so it doesn't fall victim to lawn mower blades before completing its documented journey. In protecting this small wonder, perhaps I'll learn something about protecting space for my own transformations too.

Care to join me in guessing how long the dandelion's journey will take?

Sometimes the most profound lessons come from the smallest teachers in our midst.

xx, Victoria