I’ve had a Christmas Cactus in my east window for a long while which blossoms about once a year—never on Christmas. It started out as one of those little grocery store plants that are always for sale at the holidays.
I repotted it once, but recently decided the cactus might need more room to grow. So I took it out to the picnic table in the back yard and wrestled it into a much larger pot. The results have been dramatic. In a matter of days, the cactus has produced tiny new leaves at the end of each stalk. For ages it sat in my window, not complaining, but capable of so much more activity than I ever realized.
I was reminded of a friend who told me how she’d stayed in an unfulfilling marriage for years for all the reasons people stay—the sake of the kids, I made a promise, what would people think.
Finally she acknowledged the failed marriage and left—to find a meaningful partnership with someone else. “I didn’t know I could be this happy,” she said—and indeed, she radiated a new kind of warmth and energy. “I’m giving up trying to be liked.”