The Art Of Becoming

Light has two side effects, color and speed.

In 1825, artist Samuel Morse was at the height of his career, commissioned by the City of New York to paint a full-length portrait of the Marquis de Lafayette, the French hero of the American Revolution.

In the middle of this enormous achievement, a letter arrived by horse messenger. His wife, Lucretia, had fallen gravely ill. By the time a second letter arrived with news of her death, days had passed. By the time he got there, she had already been buried.

Time became of the essence.

The painter who worked with color also worked with speed — ultimately inventing the telegraph and Morse code. Because he wished no one would ever have to waste precious time again. An idea, a dream, a wish to make time on earth better for himself and others.

The desire to communicate at the speed of light became the portal to his self-actualization — reaching the top of a pyramid of needs by fulfilling the Golden Rule: caring for others as he cared for himself. He became love-in-action and birthed a dream. I can't help but think it was the paint brush that got him there — and me too.

This would not have eliminated Morse's real-life pain from losing his wife to the inevitable fate we all must face: mortality. But his suffering was eased by rooting for others, and for the world.

We too are destined to climb a Pyramid of Needs with a view of the world that is meant to reach happiness by caring for one another as we would for ourselves. If you are reading this, you are in the middle of that climb. With the help of people who lifted you from a priceless baby to the grown adult you are, you have made it past survival, protection, and most likely belonging, love, and esteem.

Whether you believe this is the master plan of biology or benevolent gods, all roads are designed to reach the same destiny.

We are not here to race. We are here to complete a cycle — to belong, become, and birth the life we were meant to live. To grow so abundantly fulfilled by who we are and what we do that we are driven to eliminate suffering in the world by helping others do the same.

Dear baby,

Welcome to Mother Earth. You are here to imagine, discover, solve, and create. The world is paved for you to climb — from survival to belonging, from love to purpose. Dreams are not just possible; they are expected.

You will not be alone. There is already a Care Reflex built in to help you survive and reach the top. There will be struggles and riddles, but you'll always find help when you ask — because as long as people are healthy and strong, they will care for you as they care for themselves.

Some people may not know any better. But when they do, they will do better. And care more. I promise you will reach the top and find a sense of abundance that will make you strong enough to take care of not only yourself, but all creatures, weak, great, and small.

— Yours truly, Mother Nature

Fast Forward to 1990

"Hold On" by Wilson Phillips was the number one single, Pretty Woman was the number one movie, the country had entered a recession, and my first child was born.

I always knew I would be a caring mother, despite never feeling the urge to hold someone else's baby or wishing I had one. The day I decided I was ready, I simply knew. And from the moment my daughter arrived, I could foresee three things.

One: I was going to give her the best life I could ever imagine, even though I didn't know how to create it for myself. Two: I was going to have another child right away, so she wouldn't be an only child like me — because three: I was going to leave her father someday, and I didn't want children from different men.

Early on, it was clear the marriage didn't have what it took to co-parent and go the distance. I was willing to give it a fair chance, and I did — for ten years. But the first step on my list wasn't divorce.

It was to make myself at home. Belonging was the beginning of a cycle I needed to fulfill.

I had been a sea bean long enough — one of those drifting tropical seeds carried by ocean currents to a remote shore. It was time to root down and become the driver, with two little girls in the back seat with dreams and destinies of their own, who needed to look out the window and see the magical spectacle of life through light. Color has the power to change how everything looks and feels, at the speed of light.

Time became of the essence.

For the first time, I unpacked a bag full of colorful memories I had put away in a dark closet along with my previous life and began to physically root — where else but the garden.

I planted my very first tree as a symbol of adaptation: a Mimosa Silk Tree, known as the Tree of Happiness — a stand-in for the red-blooming Flamboyan, the Royal Poinciana of the Caribbean, known as the Flame of the Forest.

Dylan Thomas wrote of "the force that through the green fuse drives the flower" — that same blind, urgent, irresistible pull toward life and becoming. Planting that tree was my green fuse. I felt it take hold.

From there a garden grew — cosmos, yuccas, jasmine, roses, grasses, and of course ferns, like my grandmother's backyard. I began to plant inside too. I learned to cook, sew, and make my own Christmas ornaments. Being home with my girls in our little paradise was bliss.

I first captured that feeling into art for my walls. Then I used my walls as the canvas to paint those feelings — and how life felt changed overnight.

This didn't save me from the pain of knowing my marriage was not going to last. But it eased the suffering while doing my best to make it work.

I was driven to go and grow ahead, just like a plant seeking light to thrive and fulfill its purpose.

By making my daughters' lives more beautiful with what I had to give — who I was, what I loved, what I desired for myself and them — I attracted more of the same. I made the world I was living in a more beautiful place every day. Others began to ask for my help to help them do the same.

This is how I learned what it felt like to belong, then become the home, path, and destination.