I had a dream last night that I received an unexpected FedEx delivery. The box was long and rectangular, with a scalloped pink stamp indicating the order had been placed through a floral company. However, when I opened it, there weren’t flowers inside at all, but a cellophane-wrapped piece of soft folded plastic—much like one of those inflatable kiddie pools without any air in it.
Perplexed, I opened the attached note, which read, Cal—These are flowers, and they are also everything. I am sorry it took so long, with scrawled instructions to add water to the box’s contents. I knelt down and unfolded the plastic on the floor in front of me, slowly pouring a glass of water evenly over the top as I did so. As if in slow motion, the edges of the plastic began rising, giving shape to a shallow box. The surface started bleeding profusely with beads of color—much like the way paint swirls in a sink when you rinse brushes after you’ve put the finishing touches on the whole damn sky.
I watched as petals burst to the surface, as if they had given it their best effort, but couldn’t hold back confessing how desperately they missed breathing—how achingly they wanted to be considered worthwhile again.
Before long, I was kneeling before a pool filled with exquisite floating flowers. It was so fragile and lovely that I suddenly felt panicked that it shouldn’t belong to me. Because he was right-these were flowers, and they were also everything. But I had never been able to stomach even the plainest of apologies, much less the extraordinary ones. Maybe this was the beginning of learning how.
Wherever this finds you, I hope you can be reminded that no lesson, gesture, or words will ever be too beautiful for your heart. The loveliness you deserve is beyond human comprehension. From a place of hope, regarding whatever you have been waiting for: Last night they were flowers, and maybe today they will be everything. And I am sorry it took so long.