Life is a garden

I hate the garden metaphor!  I don't want life to be a garden.  I wanted life to be a marble statue,  once you had actually finished the difficult and terrible work,  and cleaned up all that dusty mess,  it would stay,  perfect,  in shape and timeless for centuries.  I want a Michelangelo statue of life. 

But life is a garden.  Endlessly growing and changing. You plant something,  it thrives,  you are happy.  You plant exactly the same plant,  in a slightly shadier corner,  and it dies.  You clean it, it's gorgeous.  You go away for a weekend and it's full of debris and two new plants - are they weeds that need to be uprooted or are the new plants that will give joy and beauty? And who decides which?

I hate gardening.  To me it's endless work and repetition.  But I love having friends.  I don't find the tending of friendships endless work.  I don't find our conversations repetition.  So in some cases,  I can garden.  I can even look after my dog,  who is a source of such joy for me.  I don't enjoy the cleaning up after him,  but it's a small price that I am willing to pay. 

So life is a garden (sorry!)  But in this garden, you get to decide what you are going to plant,  which plants matter and how often you need to weed/clean.  While I love an elegant French garden,  I think I'm just going to settle in to my wild English garden and relax...