Still Standing

Edited 1 February 2022

I am sunflower worshipper. Read on to find out more… (Image credit: my own)

Edited 1 February 2022: I am so happy and surprised to report that my blog competition entry (as showcased below) has won — as voted by the LexisNexis global community!

A bit of an intro

This blog has started as a living document of my journey from architecture to UX. I am happy to keep it this way for the time being — I have so many ideas in the pipeline that they will keep me busy for months or perhaps even years!

This September has been a fruitful month for me, UX and career-wise. Work at my new company has picked up pace, and now I feel truly embedded in the team — it has taken me a while to get there, and I am learning every day. I am also due to appear on an influential architecture podcast in the next few weeks, where I talk about my experience of transition from one profession to the other.

Edited 1 Feb 2022: This podcast is now available to listen here.

But, just for once, here is something a bit different.

Last week, I have submitted a competition blog entry to my company, about my experience of gardening during the pandemic. I am awaiting the results of the competition, but I haven’t just written it hoping to win. I wanted to reflect on the importance of making physical and mental space, of filling it with something meaningful, while being in the midst of one of the most cataclysmic events in humanity’s living memory.

Here is my entry in its entirety:

STILL STANDING

This spring, I planted a dozen sunflowers in my garden. An attempt to boost my mental health during the pandemic, to distract me from the relentless apocalyptic newsreel and the feeling of powerlessness about the state of the world.

The humble planter soon turned into a mini-battlefield. Strange underground creatures gnawed at the sunflower stalks; armies of snails attacked their heart-shaped leaves, leaving them bruised. But, despite all odds, the sunflowers transformed into giants, shooting up ten feet tall, and exploding into their final, glorious, sun-like form.

Then, I woke up to one sunflower head missing.

Looking around in desperation, I was expecting to find debris, broken petals, some kind of evidence of the crime.

…Nothing.

But then…

Caught in the act! (Image credit: my own)

A squirrel, crawling up the stalk, its eyes fixed on the prize: the golden sunflower head.

Caught in the act!

I charged at the squirrel, screaming. It scuttled down in panic, breaking the stalk as it did so. Within seconds, the acrobatic critter was gone.

I grafted the stalk back up, swearing under my breath.

In the following weeks, all my squirrel deterrents proved ineffective; dozens more sunflower heads were lost to these crafty critters; one brazen specimen was photographed, lunching on a sunflower head atop the garden fence.

A delicious lunch. (Image credit: our lodger, with his permission)

Today, I have just two undamaged sunflowers left. They are standing defiant, wondrous, displaying their scars with pride, attracting a swarm of bees and butterflies.

Every morning, I check up on my sunflowers. If they have survived the night, I declare, “Still standing!” Then I say goodbye to them, in case I won’t see them again.

Over the pandemic, my garden was supposed to be my solace — one outdoor space that I could peacefully inhabit. Instead, it became a place for building resilience and for learning to let go.

Still standing.

The End. Thank you, plants and creatures, for letting me tell your stories. No hard feelings! (Image credit: my own)

Postscript

For a few months, I took pictures of the sunflowers every day, in case I would not see them again. As of today, there are no more sunflower heads left — they have all been stolen or broken off by squirrels. The last two pictures in this collage are the remaining headless giants and a little bouquet that I have been able to salvage from the wreckage. I shall try again next summer…