April 2020: April showers bring May flowers

The other day, I heard the quote, “We cannot control what happens to us, but we can control the way we respond.” It made me think about the following questions:

When we look back at April 2020, how will we remember it? Will we remember the crisis, or the special moments, or the recovery in which we came back better than ever?

And as I reflected on these questions this past weekend while splitting and planting perennials around the house, I became more and more confident that these April showers will bring May flowers.

Let’s be clear. April brought us some serious showers. We had moments of light rain and moments of torrential down pours. Dark heavy clouds loomed overhead as we listened to the scary thunder roll in from a distance wondering whether it would reach us and our loved ones. And while the rain impacted all of us differently, we all felt the showers to some extent.

This April, many of us patiently took shelter as we waited for the weather to subside. Our most courageous and “essential” friends ran towards the storm to help out. And then there were some “others” that seemed to disregard the weather report all together 🤦🏼‍♂️. But regardless of where we were or who we were, we were all regularly flooded with bad news and pelted by drops of adversity. Not just numbers in a paper, but actual lives lost, jobs cut, livelihoods threatened, and families separated. Weddings, proms, state championships, graduations, and long awaited dream vacations were postponed and cancelled.

So as I looked out the window and watched the raindrops persistently splash and ripple on the surface of the pond, Jordan would call into the kitchen (my office) from the dining room (her office), with a common question, “Is it seriously still raining?” And it was. Charlie even sang a gibberish rendition of, “Rain Rain, Go Away,” but Mother Nature didn’t listen. It felt like April just continued to shower.

But it wasn’t all bad. In between showers, the sun would occasionally make its way out. There were nice spring days that allowed for long walks on the street and more interactions with our neighbors than ever before (6 feet apart, of course). The sun allowed us to watch Charlie chase “Ri-Ri” around the yard, clean up around the house, and have a beer and a burger on the back deck with our quarantine partners, Grammie and Pop Pop.

The sun seemed to shine when we heard about extraordinary acts from ordinary people (make sure you check out “Some Good News” with John Krasinski on YouTube.) It shined when Charlie, Jordan, and I would blast music and find ourselves in a spontaneous dance break to mix up the work day or when we belted out “We’re all in this together” during The Disney Sing-A-Long Special. The sun shined on every new word, animal noise, funny face, gesture, or activity that we got to witness Charlie learn day after day.

The sun shined through Vanguard’s commitment to its employees and my sales team’s ability to embrace our new normal. It shined through virtual client meetings when Charlie would hop onto my lap and offer her latest economic insights. It shined when I finished my last assignment ever for the Villanova MBA program. It shined when my buddies virtually debated LeBron vs. MJ, and while Jordan and her girls debated the best Taylor Swift songs of all time. It shined through podcasts and audiobooks and playlists on my long runs…ok, maybe short jogs. It even shined through my pathetic attempt at “30 days of Yoga.”

And the sun shined the brightest with the arrival of my new niece, Drea Ayoub. It shined when our best friends, Johnny and Katie, brought home baby JJ. It shined when my boy Domes’ baby Jordan became the newest honorary member of our sales team. The sun will shine even brighter when I’m allowed to get within 6 feet of these adorable babies.

So with the amount of sun and rain we experienced in April, May could be a ripe environment for flowers to grow. But it was a concept I learned while landscaping this month that seemed to symbolize what we’re going through and gave me hope for the full bloom that we’ll experience coming out of this.

As I was getting the beds around the house cleaned up and ready for mulch, my dad stopped me in my tracks. “Hey Kev, are you splitting your perennials?” Considering I had no clue which of the plants were perennials, nor did I know what splitting meant, I stared at the beds with a blank stare and responded with “ummmm…” So if you’re like me and weren’t aware of this concept, apparently you’re supposed to split perennial plants like Day Lillies, Daffodils, and Black-eyed Susans. You do this by dividing the flower with a spade, then removing a section of the plant and its roots from its typical spot, and ultimately replanting the divided section in new soil. During this process, we expose and reveal what the perennial flower is made of underneath its typical surface. And as a result of the splitting, both the new plant and its original flower will bloom more beautiful than they did the previous season. This must be one of those secret “Dad” lessons that we somehow avoided for 30 years.

The splitting concept seemed counterintuitive to me. From my perspective, the plants seemed to be just fine the way they were, and I didn’t want to ruin the flower by cutting it to its core and removing it from its current soil. But I had to trust the experts- or Dad and Google- that while things might look different, splitting is a necessary and essential process to rejuvenate our entire landscape.

When I reflect on April, I feel like we’ve all been split just like these perennials. It feels like a spade pierced through the way things were and cut us to our very core. I feel like this quarantine process has exposed our roots and shown what we’re made of underneath our surface. We’ve been divided and removed from our normal soil, and eventually we’ll continue to be replanted in entirely new environments. As we replant ourselves, our health and livelihood remains uncertain. We’ve been drenched by April showers, but we’ve also embraced every ray of sun that has shined down upon us. So as we turn to May, a new month, and a new tomorrow, I expect that we will bloom more beautifully than we did last season.

I’ll say it again, “We cannot always control what happens to us, but we can control the way we respond to it.” So how will this crisis make us better? How will we use this moment to help others? What actions will we each take to improve our situation? As I think about these questions, and turn my calendar to May, I’m looking forward to seeing us grow. Because after all, April showers bring May flowers.