Lessons from Kudzu

A tale

Painting by Kristin Musgnug

My alter-ego ,Jilly Ann, seems to want to tell more stories these days.

I hope you enjoy this one about Kudzu. It’s amazing what an invasive strain of flora can tell ya in terms of how to live your life. Listen to the podcast for the accent as you read or listen on its own.
Here ya go

Down here, we don’t so much “have” kudzu, it has us. I first noticed it crawling over the fence behind Aunt Darlene’s house, moving with the confidence of something that has never once been told no.

“It’s invasive,” people say, the way they might say someone “has a strong personality” right before that person ruins thanksgiving. But honestly, what exactly is kudzu supposed to do?

It’s an enthusiastic plant, here on assignment, doing the one thing it was built to do: grow. So when it grows, we act shocked.

“Oh no,” we say, as the kudzu eats the shed, the birdbath, and heads for the above ground pool.

I personally respect its commitment. I wish I had more of that.

It seems to me kudzu is just doing what every self-help book has been yelling at us to do for years: stop apologizing for your needs, even if your needs include swallowing a 1997 Toyota Corolla and half a Baptist church. Some boundaries would be nice, but it’s a plant on a mission.

I once tried to grow basil. I sang it John Denver songs. I bought it a nicer pot, thinking maybe it just needed better housing, like a millennial. That basil died with the quiet dignity of something that clearly would have preferred to live in Florence, (That’s Florence Italy, not Florence, North Carolina.)

Kudzu, meanwhile, does not ask, “Is this too much?” It asks, “What else you got?” Impressive confidence, maybe a little on the entitled side, but still: unwavering.

It’s not “seeing how it goes.” It is fully, wholeheartedly doing the job it came here to do. There’s a lesson there.

I’m not sure what it is.

Maybe it’s that it doesn’t need a five-year plan or a vision board because it is the vision board.

Most of us aren’t in danger of becoming kudzu. We’re barely parsley. We apologize to houseplants. We hesitate when we should be finding a new place to grow. Enthusiastically. Inappropriately. With a confidence that suggests we never read a single comment section.

I’m not saying we should all go out and consume a tool shed or emotionally engulf a neighbor or friendships we don’t want to sabotage. There are laws. But I am saying there’s something about giving yourself a bit more room to be who you already are. Branch out, try branching out a little more right now.

Ask life, “What else you got?”

Because maybe the point isn’t to become invasive. Maybe it’s just to become alive in the direction you were already leaning or dreaming.

Maybe that’s its sermon: Do what you came here to do.

Just… try not to eat the whole neighborhood. Grow safe out there.

All best,

Jilly Ann

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