Blindspots

When we bought our house a little over a year ago, the yard looked pretty good. The previous owners built raised flowerbeds lining the backyard fence and planted annuals. I had big plans for a gazebo with white lights in the backyard and an organic vegetable garden. We spent a lot of time working on the inside of the house, and then we had a baby, and I just never seemed to get around to planting. Or raking. Or mowing.

Our yard could be beautiful.

But it isn't. It's neglected and wrought with weeds. The grass doesn't grow in much of the yard, and if a stranger drives by, they probably would not guess that the inside of our home is lovingly cared for. The truth is, I don't even really see the disarray anymore. I tend to see what I want it to be, and I forget that the way my imagination sees our yard is completely different from the way the yard actually looks.

What did we expect, though? That the weeds would pull themselves? That the annuals would keep blooming without water, room to breathe, and nourishment?

I told Don I want to take care of our yard. Plant a garden. Rake the leaves consistently. I want to enjoy our yard and be a good steward of the small plot of earth we own.

I won't let it be a blind spot anymore, where the reality of what a stranger sees clashes so much with the way I think it is.

I think the hardest part about fixing our blind spots is just identifying them, recognizing them for what they are. Sometimes, blind spots are bigger than back yards. The sooner you let yourself see them, the sooner they can be repaired.