I’ve been sitting with these feelings for a few weeks. The words are ready.
If you follow along here or on social media, you see the highlights. You see the dreams of spring and the curated rows of potential. But I have a complicated relationship with those little squares of light on my phone. On one hand, social media has been a lifeline—I’ve met incredible people and learned more than I ever thought possible from farmers who have been doing this for decades.
On the other hand, it is the loudest megaphone for my own imposter syndrome.
The Comparison Trap
It’s so easy to scroll through feeds and see "perfect" flower farms with weedless paths and a level of certainty that I just don't feel yet. It makes me look at my own dirt and spiral into the questions that keep me up at night:
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Will any of these seeds actually make it to transplant?
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Is my business model actually going to work, or am I just dreaming?
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Am I doing any of this right?
Take seed starting, for example. If I'm being honest: I’ve never loved it. I constantly struggle with moisture levels, and this year, I have algae growing in nearly all of my trays. I spend my hours reevaluating and troubleshooting, staring at those trays and wondering—Do any of these other farmers deal with this, or do I just suck at it?
On Instagram, everyone else's seedlings look like they've been to a spa. Mine feel like a daily exercise in "will they or won't they."
The Clumsy Goose Philosophy
Then there’s the big question: Will anyone actually buy these flowers? When the time comes, will people understand the sheer amount of physical labor and heart that goes into a single stem? Will they see the value in what I'm asking, knowing the work it took to get there?
I’m constantly questioning myself. But I have to keep reminding myself that it’s okay to have missteps. I am the Clumsy Goose, after all. Stumbling—and growing algae where it shouldn't be—is practically in the job description.
I’m realizing that failing—or at least the fear of it—is just part of the soil. You can’t have the bloom without the grit. I’m trying to embrace the mess, the "what-ifs," and the uncertainty of whether a tray of seeds will become a field of color or just a lesson learned.
Why I’m Telling You This
I want this farm to be built on more than just pretty photos. I want it to be built on the truth. Flower farming is beautiful, yes, but it’s also vulnerable and exhausting.
If you’ve ever felt like a "clumsy goose" in your own life—questioning if you’re enough or if your hard work will be seen—know that I’m right there in the dirt with you. We’re going to have our missteps. We’re going to doubt ourselves. But we’re going to keep planting anyway.