Nothing Blooms Alone: Honoring the Unseen Hands that Shaped this Season of my Becoming

Opening invocation and acknowledgment (because as you'll read below, nothing blooms alone):

This reflection was born in my pivot year—not in isolation, but in collaboration. It was shaped by the words of The Pivot Year by Brianna Wiest, by the soil beneath my feet, by the discipline of my service, by the stillness of my solitude, and by the unseen hands that have supported my becoming long before I could name them.

Nothing blooms alone.

This is a remembering of that truth—and an honoring of everything and everyone who has contributed to this season of my blooming.

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I’m seeing more and more that I am not meant to do this alone.

I repeat: I AM NOT MEANT TO DO THIS ALONE.

Not because I can’t.

I can do a lot. I’m multi-talented, gifted, capable, and resourced in ways I didn’t always recognize.

But I don’t want to do it alone.

According to my Gene Keys profile, I work best as part of a large network. And that feels true in my body. I don’t desire a solo life where I’m holding everything, building everything, carrying everything. I’ve earned ease. I’ve called it in. And now I’m allowing myself to live in the frequency of aligned collaboration.

There was a saying in the military: do not reinvent the wheel (IYKYK).

If someone has already done something well, take what works and make it yours. That wasn’t considered plagiarism. It was considered wisdom. Efficiency. Respect. Why start from scratch when the lesson already exists?

That’s life.

If something has already been learned, already lived, already mapped, I don’t need to suffer through the same terrain just to prove something. I can receive the insight and keep moving.

This morning I was looking at a flower outside. And it reminded me of another flower I saw a few months ago when I was in Nairobi.

There was this walking Iris outside my loft (the cover photo for this entry and the one above is the actual fully bloomed iris from Nairobi) For days, maybe weeks, it was just leaves. Stalks. Green. Quiet. Nothing dramatic. I had no idea there was even a flower coming.

Then one morning I woke up and saw this glorious, bright purple bloom from my window.

Walking Iris from Nairobi, Kenya

I ran downstairs in my robe like—there's a flower?!

By the time I saw her open, she was in full glory. Color. Shape. Presence. She even released a soft, alluring fragrance. I stood in awe, mouth open, admiring the beautiful gift of her bloom.

Everyone admires a flower once it blooms.

But do we have any idea how much had to happen before that moment?

The soil.

The rain.

The sunlight.

The timing.

The nourishment.

The unseen intelligence working underground.

I’m literally watching a small tree be born outside right now. It starts with a stem. Then two leaves. Everything begins that way. And then, slowly, whatever it’s meant to be emerges.

By the time a flower fully blooms, it has already been many things. It has been supported by countless forces.

And I’m realizing the same is true for me.

I keep asking where the abundance comes from now. And I know the answer.

From aligned collaboration.

I know why I left that company. Why I sold that house. Why I walked away from the cookie-cutter life of coming home every day at the same time, moving in patterns that weren’t mine.

That wasn’t my assignment.

We live in a world where money supports life. And there is a lifestyle I’ve called in—one that reflects how I care for myself, how I move, how I dress, how I live. That requires provision.

And I’m deeply grateful because I already have provision that supports me beautifully now, in this season of my blooming.

Every time I think about my VA disability payment being deposited into my account each month, my heart softens into gratittude, despite all I endured to earn that. That money comes because I served.

And I didn’t serve alone.

None of us do.

What I’m being shown now is that service and collaboration are inseparable. The declaration I listen to every morning doesn’t call in aligned isolation. It calls in aligned collaboration.

I already have solitude. I treasure it. It’s where the magic happens. But even here, I’m not alone. There are trees, plants, bees, lizards, birds—witnessing me.

We are meant to be in relationship.

What has supported me matters. What has shaped me matters. What has contributed to my blooming deserves acknowledgment.

Because if something has impacted my life, and I don’t speak its name, I interrupt the collective frequency moving towards something higher. Someone else may need that same reminder, that same book, that same voice.

I’m not for everyone. And that’s okay. There are many things people swear changed their lives that didn’t move me at all. That’s how resonance works.

But The Pivot Year—that one landed.

I borrowed it first through the Navy MWR library (another amazing benefit of my service). And then I bought it. Because when something awakens me, reminds me, shifts me—I want it close. I want to return to it.

That’s what we’re here to do for one another.

And if I don’t acknowledge what contributed to my blooming, then the flower doesn’t complete its cycle.

That orchid in Nairobi bloomed fully because everything that happened before I witnessed that bloom completed it's cycle. Everything provided the support it needed to provide for that to happen.

And then the next day, she closed.

One day. That was it. She opened, showed me her beauty, released her fragrance, then closed. That was the full cycle of the bloom that was meant for me.

And in that one day, she taught me everything.

I am still blooming.

Still opening.

Still being supported.

Always being supported.

And I honor every part of what has brought me here.