On a recent trip to Longwood Gardens (the same weekend as the Beauty Bash) I was able to drink in the sight of brilliantly colored flower beds, one after another -- yellows, reds, pinks, purples, whites. In one particular bed of purple tulips stood a single magnificent red tulip, slightly out of place, but all that more beautiful. For one reason or another it resonated with me.
I often feel like the little red flower -- never quite fully fitting in with my extended family. My thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams are different for myself than what most of the rest of them have chosen for themselves. While we all have some common familial traits, there's something about me that is uniquely my own that completely sets me apart from them.
I often strive to be like the little red flower -- different from everyone else. I want to be the one that quietly stands out in a crowd. Maybe not noticeably different at first but, upon a closer look, different enough to be profoundly memorable. Willing myself to have the resilience and strength to always stand tall, proud of my differences, not sacrificing any part of myself just so I can easily blend in.
I suppose one could say the little red flower was a just a simple mistake, a seed blown in the wind or dropped without thought from the gardener's hand. But what if it wasn't? What if its placement was more intentional or deliberate? A subtle reminder that different is beautiful too.