Thorns

He who wants a rose must respect the thorn. —Persian Proverb

 
 

I’ve been drinking this tea lately- roasted dandelion root tea. My dad called it “dirt tea” because it tastes a little ... earthy. It’s supposed to be good for cleansing the liver; my dad was drinking it daily after his cancer diagnosis and he lived a lot longer than his doctors thought he would. So, I drink it too. I’m not sick, and a recent blood panel shows my liver in great health but I’m really trying to be health-conscious. If Bill had thought about his health when he was my age, he might have lived longer so I’m learning from his example-of-what-not-to-do.

 

I’ve been reading the labels on the tea bags while waiting for my water to boil, and I’ll be honest- usually the sayings on tea bags are so corny. Clichés I’ve heard my whole life, they lose meaning for me the more oft-repeated they are.

I’ve been thinking a lot about regrets and mistakes and mortality and these bits of tea bag wisdom are really resonating with me. I don’t have the sort of personality that is comfortable heeding the warnings of others. I’ve always wanted to experience life on my own terms, firsthand and bloody. 

My mom tells this story of me when I was a little girl- maybe two or three years old, playing around the stove, and I reach out to touch the oven door. Mom’s been baking and she tells me “it’s hot”. I reach out again, and she tells me not to touch it or I’ll burn myself. According to the story, I glared right in her face and leaned over and laid my cheek against the hot oven door until it burned bright red.

 

This pretty much characterizes how I like to live life. I’ve gotten a little smarter and I now understand that hot things will burn my face off and sharp things will cut me open; but I’ve still got that rebellious little girl inside me who will glare at you when you tell her what do with her life. 

Give me thorns, and I will happily slice my soul open to receive them.