Things have changed a lot since I last hosted dinners in my back garden. It’s been nearly a year now since I was prescribed a medication to help with my HAE swelling and I cannot express how different it felt to “perform” (as I must) for my dinners. This time around I felt far more shy, less reckless, and a bit reserved. I guess I’ve grown older and wiser.

When I woke up on Sunday I enjoyed the last-minute floral tidbits I’d been able to throw together thanks to Trader Joe’s—and a stray marigold bloom I’d found nearly broken off near my front stairs. I reflected more deeply on the vessels I’d used, the lovely vases, and I cherished the memories I have of them, and the past events in my life that they’d witnessed. One belonged to my Grandma Virginia, and I had to have it nearby, another is from my childhood, when the printer who printed our magazines gifted it to my parents one Christmas. It was the first and only time I’d ever seen a box from Tiffany’s and the shade of blue lit up something in me that I’d never felt before. I had to have my vase from Venice, and the glazed pottery. I long to make my own, and wish I had done so with my niece who is a talented ceramicist, but there will be time for that soon.

The food was some of my best yet, and it is strange since I don’t cook like this often—but I think a lot about it in my mind, curating flavors while they intermingle with an understanding of the histories of the ingredients. I know more about the plants than I do some of the history of Italy, but don’t ever let that fool you. My father has his Master’s in Roman history and focussed all of his spare time on reading about Italian history, I just pretend that I never listened to his ongoing sweet monologues about what he’d been reading. As his light has started to dim, I miss that version of my father a lot. I clearly was listening but I retell those stories in my own way, and the history seems to flow with much ease through my hands silently, and into my food.

I set up the table the night before the dinner, and felt badly about being in the weeds. Then I sat down in the garden and embraced how hard I’ve worked for the last few months to prepare the garden and Seed Studio for these events, and for what seems to be the next phase of my life. This is a big transition for me, but it makes total sense. I’m excited to shift gears in horticulture, but folks have seemed a bit surprised by my own misgivings. I can assure you, those are solely because I intend to write a great deal more. I’ve waited for this for a long time.

My mind has been calm for 12 months, I’ve processed the negative feelings I have from decades of judgment from myself and others about being a writer who didn’t write (and I don’t appreciate or approve of others having judged me harshly without realizing what swelling was doing to my mind), and it is time for me to put the pieces together to rebuild my life in the way I wanted to purposefully do for so long.

On Sunday morning I awoke to this photo being texted to me by my neighbor. Alfie had been running around during the party. It was his first experience with diners being in the house and while I feel badly, at least he wasn’t like LuLu and Oliver who both hid in closets for several hours. During the dinner, part of me wanted to hide too, but I genuinely enjoyed my guests and I look forward to the next two dinners—and I might add a third if all goes well.

More LED lanterns arrived the morning after, I took a selfie to remind myself of my own happiness, and I reached out to let my friends know that I needed more help for the next two dinners.

I love change, I love reinvention, and renewal. I love redesigns and growth. I cannot stand being stuck—or being weighed down and held back. To me, jumping into the unknown was impossible for so long. I was in a murky pool mostly alone. Now is my time.

The future is bright for me and I look forward to growing in life’s garden with good friends nearby me, walking arm-in-arm, knitted together like a fine mess of plants. None of us really matters without one another. We’re a tapestry of diversity and need one another. I love that.

And like my niece said nearly 10-years ago in my backyard wedding, “Don’t be assholes to one another.” Yes, I think that advice still holds. Surround yourself with others who make you feel so good about yourself, you blush daily.

And once you’re filled up with that love, you can share the spillover like a fine wine everywhere you go…