A few weeks ago, I bought some plant starts—perennial herbs I wanted to tuck into the garden. I had every intention of planting them right away. But I didn’t.

I told myself I needed a Hori Hori—a beautiful, multi-purpose garden knife I’ve wanted for years. I imagined the satisfying slice of the blade through soil, the feeling of being a “proper” gardener with the “right” tool. But life was full with other things; I never went to the store. I didn’t buy it online. Days turned into weeks. The plants sat in their little plastic pots, waiting. I’ve done this before, let desire (and plant starts) wilt on the vine of perfectionism, and watched good things die in the name of not being quite ready.

Then, in a quiet moment of meditation, a realization bubbled up: I do have a trowel. Not a fancy one. Not a Hori Hori. But the humble poop trowel I bring when I go camping—small, sturdy, totally sufficient.

So I pulled it out. I dug holes. I planted the herbs. I watered them in. The whole thing took ten minutes. The plants are in the ground now, roots spreading, leaves catching sunlight. It was easy. Simple. Enough.

And I’m left wondering: how often do we do this? How often do we delay something we long to do because we tell ourselves we’re not quite ready? That we don’t have the right training, the right gear, the right moment, the right website, the right connections, the right voice?

How often do we let our dreams wait—like those little plants in their pots—while we search for the “right” tool, instead of using what’s already in our hands?

I see this pattern in myself. I want to record a meditation, but tell myself I need a better microphone. I want to teach something new, but think I need another certification. It’s subtle, this cycle. It can even feel noble. But usually, it’s just perfectionism in a different outfit. Or consumerism dressed up as readiness.

So here’s a gentle invitation, for you and for me:
What is it you’re waiting to begin?
What have you convinced yourself you don’t yet have enough of?
And—what if you already do?

What if you already have the connections, the skills, the tools—not perfect, but enough? What if you could begin now, with what’s in reach, and let it be simple, let it be imperfect, let it be real?

If you knew in your bones that you already have everything you need, what would you do?

What if you could just take the next smallest step, and that could be enough?

You don’t need the perfect shovel.

To quote a certain Irish band:

What you don’t have, you don’t need it now/
What you don’t know, you can feel somehow.

The roots are waiting. The ground is soft.
It’s time to plant.