Some Seasons Aren’t About Blooming (A Little Note to Myself)

The Beauty of Unseen Growth in a World of Visible Achievement

Photo by Antoine PERIER on Unsplash

This thought keeps finding me, like a quiet whisper: Some seasons aren’t about showing off your flowers; they’re about sending roots down, deep and secret. It feels like a truth my own heart needs to remember, especially when the world feels like one giant, noisy bloom.

You know how it is? We get caught up in the wanting to do things, to show things. When someone asks what the weekend held, there's this urge to conjure up something, anything, to prove you weren't just… existing. Almost like our worth depends on it. And when things slow down, when there's no big news to share, that old familiar nag starts: Am I doing enough? Am I just… stuck? A wave of shame washes over you, that prickling fear that others see your stillness as laziness, a personal failing - a judgment that often echoes the very harshness we direct at ourselves in the quiet moments. At what point did how others saw me become so weighty? When did the striving for an external image eclipse the quiet knowing of my own being? Have I become so tethered to a curated reflection that the authentic self lies dormant, waiting for permission to simply be? We reach for the self-help, the mindset hacks, anything to kickstart that visible progress, desperate to silence that inner critic and the imagined judgment of the world, a judgment that often wears the familiar voice of our own insecurities.

But just like the earth outside, that unwavering desire for perpetual summer can feel dissonant when our inner landscape is calling for the quiet wisdom of autumn - where that persistent pull towards outward energy can feel like a strained note when our inner melody is a slow and quiet hum. I have to remind myself that there’s a quiet wisdom in letting the slow seasons be, a chance to gather strength, to just be without the spotlight.

Lately, I’ve been feeling that familiar tug-of-war. Seeing everyone else’s highlight reel, that constant stream of "progress," and then looking at my own quieter days. It’s easy to fall into that trap of comparison, that feeling of being left behind. And this whole AI and bio-hacking/optimization thing? It adds another layer, doesn’t it? This subtle pressure to turn every breath, every moment, into some kind of measurable gain.

Sometimes, I catch myself wondering, "Is this helping me move the needle?" and the joy just… fades a little. It's like this subtle (or not-so-subtle) programming we've all absorbed – that every moment, every activity, needs to justify its existence by contributing to some grander goal, some measurable progress. Even a quiet walk in the woods can get filtered through this lens: Is this exercise enough? Am I using this time to brainstorm? Could I be listening to a podcast instead? It's as if simply being and finding joy in the moment itself has become a radical act, almost a guilty pleasure, because it doesn't immediately serve a purpose on our self-improvement spreadsheet.

But here’s the thing I’m trying to remind myself: there’s a difference between just giving up (complacency) and finding a deep, quiet contentment in a season of rooting. It’s still growth, this unseen work. It’s just happening beneath the surface. Just like the patient roots of an ancient tree, stretching silently beneath the earth, seeking the life-giving water, anchoring themselves for storms I can't yet foresee, so too am I drawing down, finding my own stability in this hidden space.

And in these quieter moments, these seasons of drawing inward, I find comfort in the whispers of the natural world. The tree's strength isn't in its flowers, but in the deep anchor of its roots. Winter isn't an ending, but a hidden preparation beneath the frost and maybe right now, I'm like a river finding its power underground before it emerges, stronger and clearer. There's a quiet surrender in knowing, like the seed, that darkness isn't a punishment, but a necessary trust in the unseen journey. And perhaps the most profound growth isn't a shout, but a silence, a deep stillness where something essential takes hold.

So I say to myself…. heart, be gentle with where you are right now. Allow yourself this season of rooting, this time of quiet strength-building. Trust that even if the vibrant bloom feels distant, something beautiful and resilient is taking hold within. And in that trust, may you find a deep peace, knowing that every season has its purpose, and you are exactly where you need to be, growing in your own way, in your own time.