A Lobster, A Lesson and A few well placed flowers

I’ve learned two very gentle, very useful life lessons from this lobster—and she delivered them without raising her voice or ruining anyone’s day, which already puts her ahead of most of us.

The first is this: if you are going to show up in the world, you may as well arrive as yourself… with a little flourish.

She did not choose the quietest shade in the sea.
She chose the happiest one.

And then—because she clearly understands something the rest of us are still working on—she added flowers.

Not because she needed them. Not because anyone asked.
But because they made her world a little lovelier.

I like to think she paused for just a moment before heading out—tilted her head, considered things thoughtfully, and said,
“Yes… this will do quite nicely.”

There’s something wonderfully brave about that.

Now, the second lesson is one I wish I had learned years ago.

What to do when you find yourself with people who are… well… not having their very best day. We could call them a little crabby.

You know the moments.
Someone is a little short.
A little serious.
A little weighed down by things you cannot see.

And it’s so easy to feel that shift in the room and carry it with you like an extra handbag you never meant to pick up.

But here is where our sweet lobster offers a better idea.

Instead of taking it in… you quietly add a little beauty.

Not to them, exactly—but in the way you see them.

The serious one? Perhaps she simply needs a small crown of tiny white flowers.
The quiet one? A soft little vine resting on his shoulder.
The one who seems a bit heavy-hearted? A whole scattering of blossoms, just for good measure.

And if there happens to be one who is particularly dramatic about the state of things—well, she might receive an entire garden. Window boxes. Possibly a trellis.

And suddenly, something changes.

Not in them—but in you.

The moment softens.
Your shoulders relax.
Your heart stays light.

Because it’s very hard to feel burdened by a room full of people who, in your imagination, are gently adorned with flowers.

It turns everything just slightly… kinder. A bit more whimsical. As though the whole scene has been dusted with a quiet sort of grace.

And perhaps that’s the real lesson she’s offering:

You don’t have to fix every mood, carry every moment, or solve every heaviness you encounter.

Sometimes, you simply add a little beauty… and carry on.

So be bold in your own way.
Add the flowers when you can.
Pause long enough to notice what is lovely.

And when the world feels a bit serious…

just imagine it a little softer.

It’s a small thing—but oh, it makes such a lovely difference.