The Wisdom of Peonies and Potatoes
Hey yall,
This is a collaborative post featuring my dear friend and colleague, Lori Cohen.
Lessons from the natural world pervade the work that we do. We see our experiences and ways of working and being as inseparable from the seasons and what they offer. In a recent conversation, we (Lori and Tamisha) discussed the fullness of peonies and the purposeful incubation of potatoes. We recognized that just as school years, seasons, times of life end and begin anew, so, too, do we have the opportunity to celebrate buds, blooms, growth, regeneration, and the stunning impermanence that increases our capacity for growth, gratitude, and trust. We wanted to share this wisdom with you jointly, and invite you to consider the metaphors that support you this season, too.
From Lori
Peonies Showing Up, Out, Down to the Ground
Every spring, I watch the dramatic display of buds to blooms in gardens where I live. Peonies in particular, though, are the ones that knock me out. They are Just. So. Beautiful.
Here’s what I see: At first, the peony buds appear as tight, protective fortresses—tiny closed fists that seem to guard their spirits. There's something about their tightness, defended and closed off, that mirrors our own resistance to vulnerability and letting go. I find myself cheering on these small balls of potential, hoping they’ll offer up some hint at their power in the coming days.
Then, just about overnight, bam! Everything changes.
Peony petals unfurl in an explosion of fragrance and color that has an arresting impact. Just as I hoped, the peony doesn't hold back. It offers itself to the world, perfuming the air with a subtle fragrance and a stunning bloom that communicates, “I’ve arrived.”
But here's what really gets me: just as I'm fawning over a peony’s majestic—and quite big—presence, the petals begin to fall with the same abandon they demonstrated in blooming. Large petal remnants blanket the ground around the stalks, creating a soft landing for whatever comes next. Just as I cheered for the peonies to bloom, I’m silently booing the fact that in such a short stint, the show is over.
Wisdom in the Rise and Fall of a Peony Performance
Because I’m always a sucker for a good metaphor, there's profound wisdom in the short but mighty cycle of a peony. The closed bud teaches us about the necessity of protection and patience during seasons of growth—those times when we're incubating new ideas, healing from old wounds, or simply mustering strength for what's ahead. We need these periods of inward focus, more guarded and closed at times, even when the world expects our immediate blooming.
The full bloom reminds us that we might offer the best of ourselves at times—blooming in our fullness, sharing in our totality, and that sometimes there’s no halfway, no tentative opening. Peonies commit fully to their moment of glory, which makes me wonder: what would it look like if we approached our own seasons of flourishing with such complete abandon? What if we stopped holding back pieces of ourselves out of fear or self-protection?
And the falling petals? They show us that releasing what we've been or done doesn't diminish us, and it doesn’t have to be a glum affair. Fallen petals decompose into rich soil, nourishing not just the peony but everything around it, setting the conditions for regeneration. The shedding of our former selves, the completed chapters of life’s phases and stages, and the outgrown versions of ourselves can become compost for new growth we have yet to envision.
Transformation isn't about becoming something other than ourselves. It's about trusting the timing of our own unfolding. It’s also about recognizing that our best efforts, biggest performances, gloriest moments are impermanent. Nothing lasts. But rather than boo at the ending, the transitions are worthy of celebration, marking the occasion with celebration and possibility.
From Tamisha:
Growing Under Pressure
Have you ever grown potatoes? Unlike other plants, when the first shoots emerge, you don't just watch them grow from there. You cover those shoots with another layer of soil (hilling) and wait for them to appear again. After my third time covering the shoots, I found resonance in that process and leadership development.
Just as potatoes thrive under the pressure of the hilling process, we grow stronger and are more skilled each time we navigate instances (or seasons) of pressure and challenge.
Hilling pressure could look like:
Starting a new project where you'll need to flex new skills.
Leading a team and going through the forming, storming, and norming phases.
Planning to have a difficult conversation where you have to give critical feedback.
Making a mistake, being held accountable, and showing up the next day to keep at it with humility and confidence.
Manageable pressure facilitates growth. While there is the initial hesitation and nervousness of having to do something that requires substantial effort, there is also the boost of confidence and pride we feel after we've overcome the challenge. New skills become familiar as we build muscle memory over time. Teams achieve high performance due to the foundation laid for high expectations, honoring humanity, providing timely feedback, and celebrating collective expertise. Difficult conversations lead to trust building, mutual respect, and a deeper understanding. And every mistake we confront can lead to deep learning.
Trusting the Growth Journey
My potatoes push through from the dark of the soil to the light of the day. Growth can happen in dark and uncomfortable spaces. We must have the courage not to rush through the dark spaces but to use our resources day by day to move us closer to the surface. Just as potatoes are sustained by their roots, bringing in water, and leaves drawing in carbon dioxide and sunlight, we too can call on the abundance in our lives to sustain us in dark times. We can lean into our core values and wellness practices during moments when we need to pause and seek clarity. We can call on our mentors, trusted peers, and loved ones to hold space for us and guide us when we need that extra boost or grounding.
If I had never added more soil to my growing potatoes, they wouldn't have had the space to grow, and they wouldn't have developed into the sturdy plants that they are. If people always swooped in and brushed away the challenges in our lives, we'd never build the strength and resilience needed to lead with confidence, courage, and creativity.
Now, let's be clear: there's a difference between discomfort and safety. Navigating and excelling through challenges is different from being under harmful pressure and poisonous environments. Healthy plants in unhealthy soil may wilt and die.
One of the most critical leadership skills we'll develop is discernment. Having the wisdom to know when to push through moments of challenge and discomfort versus when to uproot ourselves because the conditions we're in are not conducive to our health, wellness, and growth.
In a few weeks, I'll be harvesting my potatoes. I have no idea what's developing under the soil. That's part of the fear and delight in the unknown. As leaders, we often find ourselves in similar seasons - we've done the work, weathered the pressure, and now we're waiting to see what strength and wisdom we've cultivated in the process.
Pause and Reflect
As you end this season and prepare for the next—whether in work, life, or in your own garden (literal and metaphorical), we invite you to pause and reflect:
What are you cheering for? What are you grieving?
What are you contemplating and envisioning?
What are you harvesting or waiting patiently for?
Who are you summoning as part of your community?
What elements—natural or human-made—provide you with the metaphors to navigate the seasons of your growth?
In solidarity,
Lori and Tamisha
P.S. Last year, we created a Three-Week System Reset for times of transition. Check it out!
