Karina Moreno shares how she is able to find purpose and meaning in the simple things in life.
The thing about losing someone you love is that they still show up all the time. A song on the radio, an ornament on the Christmas tree or even a yellow weed sprouting through the pavement. Years ago, when my young family lived in a bungalow in Oakland, I worked hard to make my little patch of yard pretty. I spent weekends weeding and planting, organizing and beautifying. It was an attempt present order, maintain control. An illusion, really. And like many novice gardeners, I battled with Oxalis, that noxious weed otherwise known as Sourgrass.
This bright yellow edible clover plant is as ubiquitous as the golden poppy this time of year, but far less beloved, except for generations of kids who grow up picking and eating its sour stems. This particular winter-to-spring transition was unusually wet and Sourgrass took over my yard.
No matter how many roots I pulled, the shamrock-shaped leaves kept creeping back, ruthless in their invasiveness. My mom came over one day and standing on our small porch overlooking what I regarded as a weed-infested yard, marveled, “Wow, that’s beautiful.”
At first, I thought she was looking at something else, but then I saw what she saw: a burst of neon yellow blanketing the earth between two slabs of concrete, a sea of five-petaled flowers huddled tightly together, swaying in the wind. My perspective shifted in that moment. Something I had regarded as a nuisance became enchanting. It was like sharing a smile with a stranger dancing in her car in gridlock traffic.