Droughts, Floods and the Things We Can’t Control

What can droughts and floods teach us about ourselves?

I didn’t grow up with a garden. Our backyard was concrete—functional, but uninspiring. So when I finally got my own patch of green, it felt like a dream: grass underfoot, flowers blooming, a space to slow down and breathe.

Over the last few years, I’ve poured myself into that garden—planting vegetables, nurturing flowers, learning what works and what doesn’t. But nature, as I’ve learned, doesn’t always cooperate.

In 2024, summer brought relentless rain. I adapted. I planned for it. The next year? A drought. Everything withered and died. It was frustrating—after all the effort, all the intention, all the hope.

But after yet another week of unpredictable weather—storms, winds, and more rain—I started to reflect. Maybe the lesson wasn’t about getting it right. Maybe it was about learning to hold things lightly.

We live in a world full of messages telling us to plan, manifest, expect. But reality doesn’t always follow the script. Psychologists call the tension between what we expect and what we get cognitive dissonance. And when life throws us off course, it can hurt.

A friend once told me they speak daily affirmations to stay healthy. They believed that their words could shape their future—and maybe, in part, they can. But a few weeks later, they fell ill. Life isn’t always something we can speak into submission.

And maybe that’s okay.

Another friend owned a beautiful motorbike—A Kawasaki Ninja, meticulously cleaned, serviced, and stored on a heated mat through winter. But it barely left the garage. He was too afraid of damaging it. It was perfect—but never enjoyed.

Like my garden, the bike was never the point. The process, the ride, the moment—those are the things that matter.

One of my favorite memories wasn’t from a flowerbed in bloom. It was when my son ran inside shouting, “There’s a parrot in the garden!” I laughed, (we are way more used to pigeons than parrots) until I looked outside and saw a bright blue African parrot perched on the fence. For two weeks, it visited us, waking us in the morning with its exotic birdsong. Wild, unexpected joy.

So here’s what I’ve learned: plan, yes. Hope, definitely. But hold your expectations gently. Let your possessions, your dreams, and your efforts bless the journey—not weigh it down.

And above all, stay open to joy—even when it looks nothing like you expected.