Petunias don’t get the critical credit they deserve. Too many of us, myself included, overlook their powerhouse performance simply because they are such constant working horse when it comes to producing blooms. Rather than rejoice and celebrate them, we look down at them for being such spectacular performers because they do it so seemingly effortlessly and consistently. We’d rather take months and years coaxing and coercing a rare orchid into bloom, pampering and prodding and whispering sweet nothings into its finicky ear while it demands time and attention and worship, only to disappoint with no flowers whatsoever, or a few measly and sickly leaves that eventually wither and die off. Why do we aim for the more difficult species than the ones that instantly and repeatedly reward with easy blooms and a constant show? I wish I knew. My life would have been gone much easier, in both ways.
I may not be the best at any one thing, but I’m a loyal and consistent guy. My attire, while perhaps not always to your taste, is always refined. My commitment to a task – whether a job, a creative project, or a new recipe – is steadfast and true. And my panache – well, I like to think my panache is unwavering. And as such, people expect such stuff from me, and I’m usually happy to oblige. I didn’t get to be the person I am today from hating what I do. I like being consistent. I like being organized. I like being anal. I like to dress up and spray delicious cologne in the air while I stride through its perfumed cloud. Scoff and joke and guffaw all you want – I’m pretty happy these days with the convoluted and contradictory stance I’ve adopted and made my own.
If you’ve come to expect it but find that the thrill is gone, please feel free to seek your newness elsewhere. Every chameleon-like Renaissance man has certain pools he favors, as much as he likes to change; we are different from day to day and year to year, but the soul stays relatively the same. I’ve come to appreciate that over the decades of my life. Like these petunias, the doggedly pretty things of the world have a scrappiness to their stalwart consistency. They, and we, try every day to be a little better, to put on a grander show, to inspire and impress and delight even if the petals are a little torn and the perfume a little faded. Our powerhouse performance isn’t often perfect, but we’re here for it.
Striving and blooming and putting on the show – even on a Wednesday morning.
