Tonight as I clipped a red rose for my bud vase, pricked my finger and held in an ugly word, the thought crossed my mind that Lily calls rose bushes thorn bushes, each and every time. If you've visited us, she's probably asked if you'd like to see our thorn bushes. I always correct her with a laugh and say, Rose bushes. But she sticks to thorn bushes. For some reason tonight it hit me like a ton of bricks, Am I rubbing off on her?

I call a rose bush a rose bush, but in general, I'm pretty pessimistic, apprehensive, cautious, boring...not sure what word I'm looking for. To be honest, if the bushes weren't here when we bought the house, we wouldn't have them. The roses aren't worth the thorns, and that's how I live my life. Day trips aren't worth the gas, an evening workout isn't worth having to re-shower, dancing isn't worth looking foolish. That good friend is probably too busy for coffee, my peers might not like that new idea, if I try it might not turn out just as I planned...I might make a mistake, I might be wrong, I might not be good enough, so why bother? I covet a boldness that seems just out of my reach, a boldness I think I had once upon a time. And for some reason the big stuff, like moving 600 miles, comes easier than the "little" stuff. Why not have the attitude that the process is as important as the result, the satisfaction is worth the effort, the drive is worth the view?

But instead, rose bushes become thorn bushes, and the fear of getting "pricked" or wasting time or looking foolish overshadows the beauty. I may have unconsciously settled to live life this way but the thought of Lily living her life through the filter of "not worth it" is too much to swallow. Maybe I'm putting too much into a simple childhood mistake of saying thorn instead of rose, but it fits Lily's personality, which is so much like my own. But surely it's not too late for me, and it's certainly not too late for her. She's worth me making the change, or at least trying.