A Lemon Tree Blooms in January

The scent of my potted lemon tree becomes overpowering as I walk through the living room to my office. Since the day a few weeks ago when I made room for it to wait out the winter in a corner opposite my desk, the tree has burst with blooms. There are two reasons I find this sudden blooming strange. Reason number one: I have had this tree for almost four years, and it has never bloomed like this. Sure, there has been one random bloom now and then, or two if the tree was trying to show off, but never like this. Reason number two… well, it’s January. The bright, sweet aroma is so at odds with the Christmas tree and trimmings still on display in the next room that one can’t help but find it strange.

The corners of my mouth turn slightly upward as I give the lemon tree a quick glance before assessing the state of my office with a deep, cleansing breath. Over the last several weeks, my office has become a holiday dumping ground. A conveniently located pit stop for empty boxes that just might come in handy, extra tissue paper, and whatever items I simply couldn't muster the energy to put away amidst the flurry of the season. But, after taking my time this morning to organize my forgotten workspace with care and anticipation, I am eager to sit at my desk and plan out my year.

This year will be different; I can feel it. The shiny rose gold ink pen I found in my stocking has the perfect weight and flow, and my grin becomes an uncontrollable, teeth-clenched smile as I write my name on the first page of my 2025 planner in the space provided. I take another deep inhale as the contentment of the moment washes through me. The possibilities and potential that await me in the pages of an empty planner will always tighten my chest with excitement. I turn the page and carefully read the introductory paragraphs with flowery prose explaining how best to use this planner that promises to help the user accomplish all their heart’s desires. I scan down to the only prompt on the page, “A Note To Self: What would you like to ask yourself a year from now? Flip to December 31st and write your Note To Self there.” My smile disappears, and my body turns heavy. The silence is loud and ringing. The tightness in my chest feels a lot more like anxiety than excitement and is starting to merge with a newly formed lump in my throat. I’m shocked at how clear and harsh the question for my December 31st self comes to me. The question, “Did you actually do it this year?” interrupts the silent ringing as bold and clear as if someone were shouting it in my face. “Did you actually do it this year?” A cloud of shame and the words it whispers swirl around the question, still trying to get out of my head and onto page two of my planner. “Did you actually do it this year?”

I stare at the page, unable to write it out. To put that question to ink and paper would be acknowledging more than I feel ready to. I would be affirming the fact that I have had a goal so big and simultaneously so forgotten that I need not even name it to know exactly what I mean a year from now. I close the planner and stare out the window for what seems like hours, all the things I hate about myself rolling through the cloud of shame in my mind. I hear a faint sound to my left and snap out of it to find a few blooms from the tree that had dried up and fallen to the floor. I curse and blame the dry January air as I push away from my desk and grab a large leather-bound notebook on the way out of my office.

“Whatcha readin?’” My husband, Shelby, asks as he joins me in bed. “Not really reading, more like, revisiting,” I reply without looking away from my leather-bound journal. “It’s the notebook I started a few years back when I got the idea for my novel.” I feel my body tense, anticipating the questions I know are coming. “How’s that going? Have you worked on it at all lately?” I rattle off one of the generic excuses from my growing arsenal and pray he changes the subject. “I went into your office earlier and was shocked at all the blooms on the lemon tree! Is that what’s been smelling so good?” Prayer answered. “Yes! It’s the craziest thing. I can’t believe we finally have blooms.” “Hopefully, we’ll be making lemonade in no time,” Shelby responds as we snuggle close. We exchange I love yous and tell each other goodnight, but I know, sleep will not find me anytime soon.

The world hidden away in that leather-bound journal haunts me while I try to sleep. With my eyes closed, my thoughts travel. I am not lying in bed wrapped in my husband's arms but on a mossy bank overlooking a rocky creek, watching the morning fog roll in to thicken the dew already coating the ground. The whimsical world of superstitious Appalachia surrounds me, and I mourn the scurrying little creatures and faeries that long to be set free from my forgotten notebook. I focus in on a particularly determined gnome when a familiar voice cuts through the fog over my shoulder “Why didn’t you write down the question I asked you earlier today?”

Without turning, I know it’s my Nana. Sleep must have found me after all. “Nana? Wha- Ho- Where are we?” “Don’t worry about that child. Now, why didn’t you write down the question I asked you in your planner today?” I stare into her beautiful icy blue eyes while mine start to overflow with tears. She doesn’t hesitate to pull me to her and let me weep on her shoulder. “Nana, why do I always let myself down? Why can’t I ever seem to keep any of the promises I make to myself? Even the small ones! Hell, I couldn’t even start the new year on the first. I made every excuse in the book to justify starting on the fifth.” I’m starting to sob now and the self-loathing that is dripping off every word mixes with the dew and rolls into the creek below. “That’s four days wasted right there. I’m just wasting my life away! I can’t believe I let another year go by without finishing my book.” Nana wipes tears off my cheek and lets me continue my rant of shame. “Just wasting my life four days at a time, making excuse after excuse after excuse.” My eyes meet hers as I quietly affirm, “I’m tired of wasting my life away, Nana. I’m tired of treating myself like I don’t matter.” The sound of the creek and the song of the birds drown out my gasps for air amongst the frustration and shame. I mindlessly fiddle with Nana’s necklace, the silver heart hanging on a long chain she’s always worn. I’ve sat on her lap or by her side countless times, rolling that large pendant in my hands whenever I was upset. She breaks the silence, “Brittany girl, you are so powerful, with so much to give. The seeds have already been planted, love, nothing left to do now but bloom.”

The next morning I hear Shelby grinding coffee while I shuffle to the bathroom. I splash some cold water on my face and reach for my necklace. A small, silver heart with Nana’s thumbprint on the front, a reminder to bloom engraved on the back, and a portion of her remains inside. I walk through the house to find my husband seated on the couch in my office, a fresh cup of coffee waiting for me on my desk. “I thought we could have our coffee in here this morning. Is that okay?” “Of course!” I respond as I get settled at my desk. “I thought you could tell me more about your book; we kind of got off subject last night.” Where tension and anxiety would normally be filling my chest right now, what I’m actually feeling is excitement, readiness, and confidence. Then it hits me. A moment of desperation from weeks ago. Desperate to yield some sort of fruit from my barren lemon tree, I reached across to the other side and begged my green-thumbed Nana for help. Begged her to help my pitiful lemon tree grow abundant and strong. “Why are you smiling?” Shelby interrupted. “No reason.” I say with a smirk as I grab my leather-bound notebook, “Just excited to write this book.”