I attended a retreat in February and one woman named Maia (who happens to be a gardener) generously gave each of us a packet of seeds as a parting gift. The seeds were either red lettuce, arugula, or poppies. Holding the small bags in our hands, we all felt mixed feelings of hope coupled with inadequacy. We were capable of running our own companies, speaking in front of hundreds of people, putting together spreadsheets and business plans, but could we grow something from a seed? Other retreat participants were equally grateful, but there was a common air of concern and caution in the questions that were asked. “How do I plant these?” “I don’t have a green thumb.” “How am I supposed to grow these? I can barely keep succulents alive.”

Maia smiled. Her response was gentle, full of empathy and understanding. “Just find some soil, plant them an inch deep, and make sure they get some sun and water.”

She made it sound so simple. Simple enough to try without being drowned by the overwhelming fear of failure. Maia gave us the gift of being a beginner again. She reminded us through the act of planting seeds how to surrender and trust the process. To stop overcomplicating things.

Today I harvested some of the arugula and added it to my nourish bowl. There is something so satisfying about growing something from a seed.

But isn’t that the foundation of everything we know and do? It starts out with us rummaging around in the dark, feeling buried, but holding a seed of hope. Rooting ourselves in the fertile soil of our experience. Positioning ourselves to face the sun, soaking in water and love. Trusting the process and being patient enough for harvest day.

It really is that simple.