On Being a Planter

I woke up this morning thinking about my life and my work, and the image that came to mind was a planter. By definition, a planter is “a person who plants.” Simple enough. But planting itself means to put something into the ground and set it up for growth.

When I finally understood the core of what I do well, I realized that I create structure out of white space while keeping room for flexibility. I see possibility. I build the frame without locking the door. My job in almost every setting is to make a clear path and leave space for discovery. It shows up in my work, in my parenting, and in the way I move through the world.

I did not always see it that way. For a long time, I focused on outcomes and impact. I wanted to know if the work “mattered.” But over the years people have circled back. A colleague. Someone who went through a program I built. One of my kids. They tell me what the work sparked for them, and then I understand. The seed took root long after I walked away.

Being the planter is not glamorous. You may never see what comes from what you set in motion. It requires letting go of pride, because the work is not about recognition. Someone plants. Someone waters. Someone tills and prunes. Eventually something grows, and it grows because many people played their part. The satisfaction is not in pointing to the bloom. It is in knowing you did what was yours to do and allowed others to do the same.