Most people agree that without some pain there are few gains. And even for those who don’t believe this, it ought to be a universal truth since everything from athletic success to scientific experiments support this statement. Many people know me for my analogies, so I suggest one that might convince the dubious, but if it does not, then hopefully at least it makes for a laugh.
Life is like a berry patch. I came to this conclusion wading through the chest high pricker-bushes. I plunged from the trail into the thickets and wondered half way through if this was indeed the best possible way to collect the little blackberries in my pail. I concluded it was worth the pain or “valió la pena” as the Spanish would say.
I went through the deep and low ridges etched into the mountain. Waded by prickly and soft flora. Passed over loud and quiet undergrowth. I stepped over logs and…did NOT crawl on the ground, but I came close. I gathered for myself always reaching and dropping the small fruits of my labor into my bucket clutched so tightly in my hand. If a bear came at me, I would be braced to fight for my berries…or maybe I would just run, but the pie wafting like a dream in my mind mattered so keeping my berries from harm meant the sweet reward of pie afterwards.
In my efforts to cross one particular log, I lifted my leg high much like a peeing dog and stepped over. The snippet that followed showed a girl drowning in berry bushes and a gurgle that sounded like she said, “my berries.” I clutched my bucket to my chest after the close call of tripping over the log wedged between my shin and calf. Loosening my flip-flop I slipped my leg out, and slid my shoe back on if you can call a flip flop a shoe in this predicament.
Continuing on my way back to the trail somewhere in…I pause…that direction (little aha! of triumph), I know I will be one step closer to the kitchen. I stepped and then brought my trail leg around to squash some bushes in my way. I stepped forward and dragged my planted leg up ripping the pricker bush I squashed over my exposed foot. I yelped. Bright red blood began to drip. Yes, and then there are those moment when we go into the berry patch of life ill-equipped and sometimes, perhaps more often than not, we make those same painful mistakes ripping open our feet because we wear the wrong footwear, or as I should say more bluntly, make the wrong choices.
Okay here it is. Life is like a berry patch because like any hardworking go-getter, we labor for our returns. We get cut up on the process. We bleed from the thorns. We constantly make the same mistakes (if you are me). We run through the high and lows on the mountain passing into the valleys. We hurt. But for those like me who believe that life is like a berry patch sweetness lies at the end when you get home and you pull out some flour and a little sugar throw in a zesty lemon and pop it in the oven. For those who believe in hard-work, life becomes like a blackberry pie.