Tending to What Matters: A Garden, a Life, and the Power of Clarity

For years, I’ve had a vision of being a great gardener. One who gleefully spends time in the garden, growing an abundance of plants to enjoy and share both for their beauty and their nourishment. I imagined waking up, coffee in hand, stepping into the garden to admire new growth, marvel at the bees and birds doing their work, and feel awe at the rhythm of nature.

I didn’t just want to grow things, I wanted to understand what I was doing. To find joy in that knowledge and share it. To play in the dirt. To feel more connected to the earth. I wanted to be responsible for bringing something to life and tending to it. A garden full of vegetables, flowers, herbs. Not just for the harvest, but for the process of creating and nurturing from the soil up.

But my gardens in the past never quite took off.

Back when I lived on more land on the East Coast, I tried. Every year, I’d buy the starts and the seeds. I’d sketch out ambitious plans. And then, the deer would get to it. The seedlings wouldn’t take. I’d miss the timing, get overwhelmed, or lose steam. I watered too little or too much, and, I never knew which. I’d miss picking the fruits of my labor at the right time, and they’d spoil… if the squirrels or rabbits didn’t get to them first. I didn’t weed enough, lost momentum, and things would fall apart.

There were always glimpses of success, squash and peppers here, a handful of herbs there, and lots (and lots) of mint overrunning everything. But I never felt like I could fully catch my stride as a gardener.

Then I moved to Colorado.

No yard. No real space. Just a condo with a balcony that didn’t get the right amount of sun. In a suburban neighborhood, where trees were planted in neat little rows and the HOA managed all the landscaping, I felt even more disconnected from the ground itself.

Now, I’ve landed in a rental with a small yard. Some existing garden beds. Great sun. And the desire to garden is stronger than ever. Maybe it’s peri-menopause. Maybe it’s the rising cost of food. Either way, I felt the pull.

Still, I hesitated.

The soil here was unfamiliar. The Colorado climate with high altitude, dry air, hot days, cold nights, and occasional snow in May, was a far cry from what I was used to. I didn’t know if I’d be staying in this house past the summer, so, it felt risky to pour time, energy, and money into something I might have to leave behind.

But the longing didn’t go away.

After years of not feeling like I could actually put down roots in the home I owned, I wanted this place, rented or not, to feel like home. Planting this garden felt symbolic. It felt like a way to anchor, to connect to the land I am on, and to commit to care, even if the timeline was uncertain.

But sometimes, wanting something deeply isn’t enough to act with confidence. I needed clarity and support.

That’s where garden coaching came in.

I found a local expert: Cortney Kern, a master gardener who knew how to grow food and flowers here, in this region, not just in theory. She didn’t sweep in with a formula or a prescription. Instead she asked thoughtful, empowering questions:

What did I actually want from this garden?
What did I have time for?
What would nourish me—not just on the table, but in the act of planting, tending, and harvesting?

She helped me rein in the impulse to grow everything. She honored that this garden mattered to me, even if I wouldn’t be in the house forever, even if I wasn’t sure I’d still be here at harvest time. And she helped me translate my vision into a clear, manageable plan that worked for my yard, my schedule, my dogs, and my budget.

I didn’t want someone to take over the garden for me.

I wanted to learn. To get my hands in the soil. To understand why we chose one plant over another. How to tend to this space so it would thrive. I wanted the experience to shape me not just the outcome to please me.

And that’s what I got.

She taught me how to amend the soil. How to group plants based on sun, water, and space. What flowers would attract pollinators without needing constant attention. She helped me think practically: Would I really can endless tomatoes? (No. I don’t even love tomatoes unless they’re in salsa.) Did I want to dedicate all that space to melons, or would I rather grow more cucumbers and greens?

And, thankfully, she reminded me to keep the mint contained in a pot far away from everything else.

And then, I planted.

Things haven’t gone perfectly.

The spinach and pansies don’t look great. Some leaves turned yellow, others are dry. I’ve caught myself wondering:
Am I doing this wrong? Did I mess it up?

But then I saw garlic begin to sprout.
Marigolds pushing through.
Tiny carrot tops.
My clematis flowering up the trellis. My salvia releasing its beautiful scent.

Proof that something was working.

I read a quote from another gardener that stuck with me:

“You can go out to the garden and look for everything going wrong, or you can go out and be with what’s going well.”

That’s been an anchor, because life, like gardening, offers both. Sometimes what we need isn’t perfection, but presence. Perspective. The ability to know what needs pruning and what’s worth nurturing.

We don’t get to control every variable in our lives. You can do everything “right” and still feel stuck. You can wonder if you planted the right seeds, you amended the soil correctly, if you watered too much or too little. And yet, something is always growing.

Maybe it just needs more space.
Maybe it needs to be thinned so the strongest shoots can thrive.
Maybe you need to stop trying to grow eggplant just because you think you should, and instead grow what actually brings you joy.

(That was a real conversation I had. And no—I didn’t grow eggplant.)

This is the metaphor I keep returning to:

You get to plant what matters most to you.
You get to build a life that reflects your values, your energy, your vision.
But you don’t have to do it alone.

Having someone who can ask the right questions, help you zoom out, and walk beside you while you do the planting can help you move things from a hope or idea into something real.

That’s the kind of work I’ve done for myself over the years and it’s what I do with my clients now. We often begin with those big, tangled longings:
I want more purpose. More balance. A life that feels fulfilling.  A life of success based on my terms.
But what’s needed first is a space to clarify what that really looks like and a partner to help make it tangible.

In my coaching work, that’s what I offer.
Not answers. Not a checklist. But partnership.
Reflection.
And support grounded in real tools like neuroscience, values work, mindfulness, and lived experience.

So if your life feels like a garden you keep meaning to plant, but something always gets in the way, maybe it’s time for a different approach.

One that starts small.
Tends gently.
And grows into something real.

You don’t have to build it all alone.

If you’re rethinking what matters or finding yourself pulled in different directions, coaching can offer the kind of thoughtful support that helps you move forward with clarity and purpose. You can begin with the Alignment Audit—or reach out if you’d like to talk through where you are and what you’re hoping to grow next.