Lessons from Kudzu

My alter-ego ,Jilly Ann, seems to want to tell more stories these days. 

I hope you enjoy this one about Kudzu. It's amazing what an invasive strain of flora can tell ya in terms of how to live your life.

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Jill

Transcript

Speaker 0:08

Hi. Oh wait, hello. Hi, this is Jill Badonsky, and this is A Muse's Daydream. And I'm going to hand you over to Jilly Ann Badonsky. And we're we're both the same person, full disclosure. It's just that she talks with a a southern accent because uh she lived a while in Florida. She's going to talk about kudzu. Kudzu by Jilly Ann.

Speaker 0:41

Down here we don't so much as have kudzu as it has us. It's this vine, it looks like ivy, and once it gets started, it don't stop. I first noticed it crawling over the fence behind Aunt Darlene's house, moving with the slow confidence of something that has never been told no. No. It's evasive, people say, the way they might say has a strong personality. Right before that person ruins Thanksgiving. But honestly, what exactly is kudzu supposed to do? It's an enthusiastic plant here on assignment, doing the one thing it was built to do. Grow. So when it grows with its flair for drama, we act shocked. Oh no, we say as the kudzu eats the shed the birth bath and heads for the above ground pool. I personally respect its commitment. I wish I had more of that. It seems to me kudzu is doing what every self-help book has been yelling at us to do for years. Stop apologizing for your needs. Even if your needs include swallowing a 1997 Toyota Croyola and half a Baptist church. Well, some boundaries would be nice, but it's a plant on a mission. I once tried to grow basil. I whispered affirmations to it. I sang it John Denver songs. I bought it a nicer pot, thinking maybe it just needed better housing, like a millennial. And that basil died with the quiet dignity of something that clearly would have preferred to live in Florence. And that's Florence, Italy, not Florence, North Carolina. Kudzu, meanwhile, does not ask, is this too much? It asks, what else you got? Impressive confidence, maybe a little on the entitled side, but still unwavering. It's not, I'm just seeing how it goes. It's fully wholeheartedly doing the job it came here to do. And there's a lesson there. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's that it doesn't need a five-year plan or a vision board. It just jumps right in. It is the vision board. Most of us aren't in danger of becoming kudzu, we're barely parsley. We apologize to our own houseplants. We hesitate when we should be finding a new place to grow enthusiastically, inappropriately, with confidence that suggests we never read a single comment section or listen to people who don't get us. Now I'm not saying we should all go out and consume a tool shed or emotionally engulf a neighbor or friends. We don't want to sabotage, and there are rules and laws. But I am saying there's something about giving yourself a bit more room to be who you already are. Where can you branch out a little bit? Try branching out. We don't want a full takeover, not a botanical coup, just a little more space. Ask what else you got, life. Because maybe the point isn't to become invasive, maybe it's to become more alive in the direction you're already leaning or dreaming. Or scheming, sorry. Maybe it's sermon to the rest of us is do what you came here to do, even if it's just a little bit more, and try not to eat the whole neighborhood. This has been A Muses Daydream with Jilly Ann Badonsky. Grow safe out there, but uh let's take a small step.