Day 56 · Germination

The avocado pit on the windowsill finally cracked open.

I soaked it casually last month after eating an avocado, held up by four toothpicks, half submerged in water. At first I checked it every day, three times a day, but it didn't move at all. Later I forgot about it, occasionally changing the water and glancing at it when I remembered.

This morning while changing the water, I discovered a thin crack at the bottom, and a white root peeking out from inside, like a baby extending its first finger.

Suddenly I remembered when I first entered the circle.

Back then, I checked the charts a hundred times a day, wishing the K-line would skyrocket the very next second. I wanted it to rise as soon as I bought, wanted to sell when it rose, and regretted it after selling. One day without looking made me anxious, as if missing one glance would make me miss a hundred million.

Now? I check twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. In between, I do whatever I need to do.

It's not that I've become zen, it's that I've figured it out.

Seeds need time to germinate, avocados take a month to crack, magnolias wait a whole year to bloom.

K-lines are the same—they have their own rhythm. Your impatience won't help.

A friend asked: Aren't you afraid of missing out?

I said: So what if I miss out.

Missing a hundred-fold coin won't make the sky fall. But missing the moment this seed on the windowsill germinates, that's a real miss.

It happens when you're not paying attention, quietly, slowly, gradually prying that crack open a little bit more, then a little bit more.

By the time you notice, the root has already emerged.

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