Bloom Where You are Planted

A Personal Essay by Marin Pinkham

Standing out was something that seemed to be a common characteristic of my life, but it wasn't until I physically stood out  that I realized the beauty of differences.

"yellow petaled flowers near the cliff and crystal clear ocean"

My blonde hair billows in the humid but warm breeze as I saunter down the gray sidewalk that parallels the black asphalt road. The aromatic scent of carne asada and grease wafts towards me as I pass the local’s favorite taco joint - Pedro’s Tacos. I think about my possible order - fantasizing over a fish taco smothered in cabbage - as I wander closer to the enticing body of water at my favorite beach - T-Street.

It had been about a year and a half since I had wandered aimlessly through the colorful streets, remarking on the beauty and nonconformity that the houses gave in contrast to one another. It was here that I discovered the beauty that lies in the different, the unexpected. It was here that I realized the danger that comes when an individual strives too hard to fulfill the same future as the next person. It was here where I realized the beauty that I hold in calling T-Street my favorite beach.

Seafoam waves crash down on the spiky multicolored sand successively as though trying to replicate the steady pounding of my feet on the previously untouched grains of sand. Despite the violence these waves seek to inflict on each beach-goer, the waves only lend to my overall enticement. They entice me gradually closer and closer, until I am barely touching the water’s edge. Water laps sweetly upon my sandals and for a moment the danger that inherently lies within dissipates. I look up and down the coastline to watch a three-year old engaged in the same activity as me. Suddenly a guttural scream launches out of his tiny lungs as a sneaker wave soaks my jeans.

T-Street Beach

I place myself squarely in a plot of sand, and dig through the misshapen rocks in front of me. I sit there for hours, watching a small family carefully walk along the shoreline, dodging the waves but still remaining in the danger zone, subjecting themselves to the ever present threat of an encounter with the water. My quiet and pensive digging is only interrupted as my thoughts wander whilst I longingly look out into the waves. Remarking on the different sizes and colors of stones and their cohesion with the texture of the entire beach, I realize the necessity that each stone has in completing the picture of T-Street. There is a need for each rock, even if they do not all fulfill the same purpose. I recall a time when I felt as though I did not belong in this quiet beach town. I recall the time when my life experiences seemed to separate me from the crowd. I recall a time when all I wanted was to desperately belong.

Being raised in a desert landscape involved activities and experiences that were quite contrary to long afternoons at the beach. My summer’s involved sitting inside our highly air conditioned track home playing Barbies, watching movies, and hanging out with my sisters. Since my family did not live in
close proximity to my school friends, my social interactions were greatly limited. This ultimately caused me to have just a small number of dear friendships. Like a cactus I grew solitarily, I did not need large social gatherings or events to survive. The struggles that I faced aided in my development of being able to stand up for my morals and also for those who struggled socially or intellectually. In a way, I felt that this was me thriving. I felt that there was nothing that could possibly keep me from reaching what I viewed as my potential. I felt that I had truly bloomed in the desert landscape and had found a way to drink up the sparse amounts of water that I as a cactus flower rarely needed.

However, within a short amount of time, my childhood chapter seemed to come to a close and I was quickly uprooted from my childhood flowerbed and replanted in much more fertile soil. At a crucial stage of my early adolescence, San Clemente, California became my new resting grounds. I was replanted in an environment that seemed easy and foreign to my thick, dry roots. This flower bed flourished with flowers who had not grown up amongst rocky dry soil - in more ways than one. But the rocky soil was what shaped my beautiful soul. It allowed me the chance to grow stronger when adversity came my way.

 But these flowers that I was surrounded by in this “fertile soil” did not have the necessity of experiencing such adversity. They were lucky to sprout up in a prosperous area with a climate that promoted outside activities and other social experiences. It was at first disheartening to feel as though I did not belong in this area of fertile land because I was hardened. My roots had twisted and turned in defense of muggers, kidnappers, and mean individuals at WalMart. I did not share a common budding of going to the beach, of racing into the aqua waves and playing in the seafoam, without the creeping fear of dangers that lurk around the corner. It made me stand out. It kept me from fully connecting with my peers. I felt out of place as a cactus often would in a field of brightly colored daisies.

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.” -Michael Cunningham

It would have been considered an easy out. Avoiding these flowers by choosing to keep my stubborn roots twisted and turned and not accepting the water and nourishment from others was exactly what my 15 year old self wanted to do. I wanted to keep the lessons and knowledge I had gained from my desert upbringing and not allow any of the lessons from this fertile, beautiful soil to teach me anything. I felt that this was the one way that I would remain grounded. It felt that this way I would avoid any unnecessary pain and grief that I felt by not fitting the beautiful flower mold. Until one day.

One day, my rather unusual and eclectic freshman English teacher, Mrs. Morris, sensed that our adolescent minds were wandering from her deep discussion of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. The boy to my left, at one point, had given up pretending to follow along in his musty version of the book and was staring longingly outside at the ocean water that seemed close enough to taste. Mrs. Morris clapped her hands together at this point and said, “Let’s take a break shall we?” as she wandered closer to my wood laminate desk, “everyone come outside and we are going to stare out at the ocean”. I remember being annoyed. Yes, the ocean was beautiful, but what good was this exercise going to do if we did not finish the book?

With us all gathered outside, Mrs. Morris stood behind us and read these lines, “what may not be expected in a country of eternal light!” from the book. She then proceeded to tell us that we were all beings of light that either chose to add or detract from the grand scheme of light that was in the world.  She muttered something along the lines of it being our choice whether we want to change the way the light is perceived and viewed or if we would rather sit beside the world while it changed us. I realized in that moment, that I could not sit idly by as the anger and resentment of being a different flower crowd out my unique voice. It was important that I allow my own light to shine through and give these typical flowers an understanding of the beauty that lies in the differences.

Fast forward to present day, and this feeling of being out of place amongst a field of nicely maintained flowers - with their perfect rows and idyllic grooming - continues as a trend in my ever-changing life. There is always some part of the unique lives we live that question and haunt the social norms. Interestingly, these flowers have less of a chance at mocking or staring oddly at you if you just follow their specific mold for your life. However, this seems to be the one problem that I face.

My panting breaths accompanied by constant waddling is the current picture I portray to the world. I
continually rest my bulgy hand on top of my protruding bump as I waddle closer and closer to my building. Passerbys glance at my bump first, with some only stop their glances there, then they give a quick smile before scurrying on their merry way. Heat floods my distended cheeks as they pass. A fluttering sensation anchors me to the here and now; away from the constant stares and glances of interested strangers. Pant after pant, my shallow breathing pushes me forward.

32 Weeks Pregnant

Phew! A crosswalk. I stop to let the vehicles of individuals leaving drive past me. They are probably watching me within their protected windows with either scrutiny or amazement at the feat I will have to complete in a couple weeks. The feat of trying to keep this unborn baby in my encapsulated cocoon for just a bit more time. Ultimately the feat of preparing to be a mother and a full time student who works to help support her family. It is not easy. But reminding myself of the beautiful baby girl I will get to meet makes it all seem a little less daunting.

However, knowing that I will get to hold and love this little girl in just a few short weeks does not help the fact that I am getting almost too big to fit in the standard sized desks. Or the fact that wherever I go individuals forget that I am a human being, with feelings, and that my face should make more of an impression than my belly does. In one instance, a young man on the phone started by staring at my belly and then looked me up and down before finally settling on my stomach. It was rather disheartening to see someone I did not even know spend so much time judging my appearance.

However, with all of these judgmental and ever-present views that individuals place on my aching back, it ultimately just lends to the sense that I am allowing my light to affect the world’s light. Flowers are known for absorbing the light that surrounds them as they grow and develop, but I want to influence that light. I want my situation to displace the negativity that I am surrounded by. I am allowing my unique situation to barge in on the neatly arranged rows and perfectly placed petals. I am truly blooming where I have been planted in more ways than one.

And isn’t that the point? The scrutiny and judgment from the perfect flowers who filled out the exact mold in the right order is what I have to endure to hopefully change the world for my own budding flower within me. For “if you feel like you do not fit in this world you inherited it is because you were born to help create a new one” (Ross Caligiuri - Dreaming in the Shadows).” And I am grateful that I can do that. That I can endure trial and tribulation so that one day my own blooming flower can choose her own path and not feel the distinct cries from the perfect flowers screaming, “ you are not doing that right!” to “you have to conform in order to be considered beautiful!”. There is no beauty in living the same life as the person next to you. There is no beauty in following a set mold that “guarantees” a specific outcome because there are no guarantees in life. And that is what I am fighting for.

Baby Girl 

I am fighting to allow this baby flower -- twisting, kicking, hiccupping inside me -- to be able to shine her unique light on the world knowing that it will help shape the totality of the “country of light”. I am fighting to show my light to the world to help create a better system that glories in individual’s unique situations. I am fighting to allow for more beautiful and multicolored, multi-
leveled, and multi-sized houses to be the norm not the exception to the track home model. That hopefully one day, the beauty in the difference can be what we see not what we criticize.






Image Credits: "yellow petaled flowers near the cliff and crystal clear ocean" found at PeakPx licensed under CC BY 2.0 
Personal Photos of T-Street, 32 Weeks Pregnant, and Baby Girl by Marin Pinkham 
"Mammillaria grahamii" Steve Evans from Citizen of the World on Wikimedia Commons licensed under CC BY 2.0