The Seed You Were Born to Plant

By Penelope Wise You know that one picture in your head? For me, it’s my grandson. He’s got a ridiculous mess of jam on his face and this laugh that comes straight from his toes. I hold onto that image when the world starts feeling too heavy, and a question tugs at me: What kind of world is he actually going to inherit? Honestly, most of the time it feels like we’re trying to empty the ocean with a thimble. The problems are so big, and we’re so… small. It’s tempting to just shut it all out. To mute the noise and think, “What difference could I possibly make?” But I’ve come to believe that’s a lie we tell ourselves when we’re tired. That inner strength we’re all trying to find? It isn’t a prize you win. It’s more like a fire you build. And fires only get going when you feed them kindling. And that creative spark—it’s not some special gift for the chosen few. It’s your built-in tool for fixing things. It’s what lets you look at a broken situation and not just see the damage, but imagine the repair. So how do you fund something like that? It doesn’t cost a dime. It costs a little bit of your comfort. It’s in the small, almost invisible choices. It’s listening to that gut feeling that says “this isn’t right,” and actually speaking up about it, even if your voice shakes. It’s stealing back an hour from your weekend—just one—and doing something that feels like putting goodness back into the soil. Turn off the screen. Plant a literal seed. Call that friend who’s having a hard time. Just sit and remember what quiet feels like. I remember my grandfather’s hands. They were rough, permanently stained with earth and engine grease. He built a porch for our house, and decades later, we’re still using it, the wood worn smooth by generations. We might not be building porches today, but we’re building the world our children will have to live in. Our materials are different now. We’re building with kindness, with truth, with the simple, stubborn act of showing up. Our kids aren’t waiting for us to hand them a perfect, finished world. They’re watching to see if we showed up to the construction site with our tools. They’re learning from our posture—whether we met the mess with cynicism or with a determined hope. The future isn’t a train we’re passively riding. It’s a house we’re building together, right now, with every conversation we have and every small stand we take. So let’s get to work. Stoke that fire inside you. Don’t wait for a signal. Be the signal. That little face you’re picturing in your mind? They’re counting on the you who’s brave enough to start.