When You Come Across a Leprechaun

The perennials are poking through.

Showing up like the great surprise they are.

One moment, only brave points of green stalks in the dirt, and a week later, they are a foot high. The hint of blossoms then emerge, and within a few weeks, daffodils and day lilies trumpet their stories.

I realized this year that spring is my favorite season—I always thought summer was best because of the sun, warmth, and long and peaceful days. But spring is not about what is or what was—it’s the energy of what is to come.

A friend told me that she noticed this year that the grounds around her church were rich and full of life. She pointed out how wonderful they looked to an older man she knew helped take care of the flower beds now and then. 

“I will tell you my secret,” Larry said. “I go to the cemetery just after Easter, before they throw the potted daffodils and tulips away. And I take them and replant them here.”

I imagine Larry grinned a little mischievously just then. 

How incredible! He takes what has passed its usefulness in the corner of some gravesites, and gives them new life and a new bright home.

We laughed about Larry. 

“He’s like a leprechaun!” I said, “finding and spreading magic!”

I don’t know that it would occur to me to ever do that. But it does make me think: Where might I use my skills and privilege for greater good? 

This question was posed by Marita Fritjon—a lovely coach—who said once that we should continually ask ourselves this. What might I do not because I get paid for it, but because there are so many people suffering in the world right now? “I can bring positivity and presence to the world, that’s a good thing,” she said.

Fritjon is co-founder of an organization that does incredible relationship systems coaching work, CRR Global. And I think she was asking, “Where might I be a leprechaun in the world? How can I spread some color and magic?”

We all have our moments—times where we are in our own bubbles, focused on the drama of our own lives—perhaps even spiraling down now and then.

As Fritjon said, there are times we all are not fit for human consumption.

I have moments like that too. Like this weekend when I burned our thick ribeye steaks to a charred crisp and then got mad at my life partner because he was out trimming trees in the yard instead of grilling steaks (both are core competencies he is particularly good at).

I was not fit for human consumption in that moment. 

But I have other moments—times where not only am I fit for human consumption, but fit for connecting with the grace and beauty in the world.

What tiny corner of the universe might you impact? Where can you be a force for good?

Perhaps on your travels to live out that dream, you come across our friend Larry. Leprechauns often show up in the dawn of a new day.