But when I started in on the apricot triage, I discovered that they were perfect, actually, in their over-ripeness. They were squishy in places and fell off their pits like a dream. Soon I was blessed with a bowl full of sticky golden orange half-moons with an amazing fragrance that shouted sunshine and summer. I had caught them just at that moment when they were at their best.
Thinking about this as I continued to cut open the apricots and douse them in a handful of sugar, I realized that don't often have the courage to wait for this kind of ripeness, this kind of intensity, in my own life. I often rush things too quickly because I'm afraid of that fine line, that place that rapidly turns from lush sweetness into rot and lost opportunity. Had I, the nervous Nelly super organized early bird, ever waited just a little longer for something like that to happen? No, and I have been gnawing on pale yellow, greenish golfballs as a result.
Maybe the apricots had something to teach me about letting things go a little beyond where I am comfortable. Maybe I needed to smell the almost-rotting perfume of a just right moment in order to know exactly what 'just right' is. And maybe I even had to allow for the possibility of disaster, to risk being too overripe, for the promise of something sweet and intense. Something alive and succulent. Something just right and fully grown.
Related: Weekend Meditation: Saying Yes
(Image: Dana Velden)