Because of where it came from.
I won this plant at an auction. The auction was part of a fundraising night for my beloved seventh grade science teacher, Mr. Kittredge. Mr. K has been battling ALS for the past couple of years. Unfortunately, his condition continues to deteriorate; his current and former students are devastated. To say that Mr. K was a light for us during our seventh grade year would be an understatement. He completely and wholeheartedly embodied what it means for a teacher to "show up" for his or her students. Every day, we would enter the room and see his briefcase resting on the lab table. The briefcase was COVERED with stickers, and I enjoyed feasting my eyes on all of the colors. Mr. K's personality was as colorful as these stickers - he brought a sense of humor to the classroom that I have yet to experience again. During that painful year in my life during which my family experienced yet another cancer diagnosis, Mr. K. kept me laughing when going to school proved to be an emotional hurdle.
Mr. K always showed up for us. At the fundraiser, I was blessed to witness my town show up for him. To watch my old teachers, classmates, and neighbors hugging and reminiscing.
And the spider plant? It is actually a part of the larger spider plant that Mr. K housed in his classroom for many years. I remember that very plant sitting on the windowsill above me almost a decade ago. Now, I will always have a part of it.
The idea of "showing up" has been a recurring theme in my life recently, even if only in a subtle way. I've been thinking a lot about the phrase, the essence of its meaning. In the past few years, I've slowly developed a mantra that has begun to govern how I live, and that is this: showing up is everything.
In early June, a close friend of our family performed in her spring dance recital. K is twelve, and I have known her since she was born. (There is actually a picture of me holding her on my couch in early 2001, feeding her a bottle.) At this particular recital, K danced in several numbers. I love dance, so I thoroughly enjoyed the entire show. However, I was sad when I couldn't immediately spot K in her dances. From a distance, it is quite literally impossible to find one girl out of a dozen preteen dancers, almost all of whom are white (since this is Sandwich, MA), of similar height, and wearing identical costumes and buns in their hair. In the last thirty to forty seconds of each dance, I could finally find K.
But that wasn't really the point.
The point was seeing her face when she spotted me in the hallway after the 2.5 hour show, a bouquet in hand. I engulfed her in a hug and was more than happy to "show up" for such a special girl. Because I love her.
Do I remember every performance of my childhood years? Every awards ceremony? Every concert and soccer game and speech presentation? Of course not. I do remember who came to support me. And that has made all the difference.
By "showing up," I don't only mean being present in a physical sense (although important.) To me, the phrase also means having a friend who will just sit and listen to you cry. It's sending a "good luck" card to a roommate before she takes her boards. I am so thankful for these types of friends. But some of the most painful moments in our lives (my life included) revolve around the devastating realization that someone did not show up for us when we needed the support. That really hurts.
I've spent a bit of time in survival mode, I'll admit. By "survival mode," I mean that during a time of intense emotional pain, I wasn't really showing up for anyone in particular. Including myself. I made my bed (usually), ate three meals a day (usually, although my appetite wasn't always there), and continued to receive high grades (because I still liked learning.) I was nice and polite to people.
But I was just getting by.
I wasn't going the extra mile to show just how deeply I cared for those I love. I didn't quite remember what I liked about myself, because I couldn't see through the persistent fog.
Over the last year and a half, I've been showing up again. I remember what it feels like to be alive, to not just go through life but to let life go through me. To let it engulf me and amaze me and throw me around a little. To let it present me with new friendships that I treasure. To be inspired and dream my own dreams.
(And I have to say, nothing quite says showing up for life like paying your first credit card bills.)
On that occasional day when I need to be reminded to show up, I'll take a look at that spider plant. It has been through a lot, as has my favorite science teacher. But they are powering through.
And so will I.
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