Not all flowers are here to be picked.
Lately, I’ve been practicing something new.
Before I pick a flower… I ask.
Before I touch a leaf, I listen.
If I feel drawn to collect something from nature,
I pause—and speak to the plant first.
It might sound strange, but I’ve come to understand something:
Once something is alive, it becomes sovereign.
A person.
An animal.
Even a plant.
Life itself deserves reverence.
I don’t assume I have the right to take from what I didn’t create.
Especially if it’s wild.
Especially if it wasn’t planted for me.
Especially if the act of taking asserts my will over another.
And I’m beginning to feel the same way about how I show up in relationships, in creativity, and in my work.
The Old Story of Permission
I used to think I needed permission to create.
That was the voice of the “good girl.”
The peacekeeper.
The one who stayed small so others wouldn’t feel less than.
But now I know:
You don’t need permission to create.
You do need permission when your creation touches others.
When your words land in someone’s heart.
When your energy enters someone’s field.
When your decisions shape shared soil.
Impact vs. Reaction
There’s a difference between moderating yourself to be palatable
and moderating yourself to be conscious.
I am not responsible for someone’s reaction.
But I am responsible for the impact I make.
For whether I trample a garden—
or offer my presence with care.
Sovereignty isn’t about doing whatever you want.
It’s about honoring the life within everything.
A Practice of Reverence
So now, I ask.
I speak softly to the flower.
I offer gratitude to the wind.
I listen for yes.
I respect the no.
Because not all flowers are here to be picked.
(And these flowers happened to be found—not picked.)