I recently watched part of an interview with Rareș Prisecariu, a brilliant 10-year-old child with an extraordinary maturity in both his thinking and the way he speaks. At one point, he said a sentence that made me stop everything I was doing:
“My mother is the water at my roots.”
How beautiful and expressive.
My partner immediately added, with a smile:
“And who is the fertilizer?”
Well… that really got me thinking.
My first instinct was to believe that, at some point, each of us ends up growing on our own. Our mother gives us the initial impulse, the foundation we start from, those “first seven years at home” people often talk about. School adds a few more ingredients: information, discipline, maybe some values. Then life comes along, gives us a final push, and seems to say: “Now you’re on your own. From here on, you grow by yourself.”
But that thought didn’t stay with me for long.
I remembered animals. Most of them learn their first survival lessons from their mother, and then they are left to manage on their own. Experience becomes their teacher.
Then I thought about plants. They seem quiet and independent, but in reality they depend on an entire ecosystem: water, light, fertile soil, pollinating bees, and seasons.
No plant grows alone.
And that made me wonder: do people truly grow on their own?
In the end, the thought that stayed with me was this: we never grow completely alone. You cannot evolve in isolation. Whether we are talking about physical, intellectual, emotional, or spiritual development, we are part of a larger ecosystem.
Our growth is shaped by people, experiences, encounters, books, conversations, and seemingly random moments.
Sometimes, someone is the water at your roots.
Other times, someone becomes the light that helps you see more clearly.
And sometimes, someone is that “fertilizer” which, through a challenge or a harder lesson, helps you grow faster than you ever imagined.
Every person we meet leaves a mark. Some marks are light, others are deep, but all of them contribute to who we become.
The same goes for experiences.
What we see, what we read, what we listen to, the conversations we have, the mistakes we make, all of these become nutrients for our growth.
In this sense, life is less of a solitary path and more like a garden where we grow alongside one another.
Perhaps true maturity is not the moment you believe you no longer need anyone. Perhaps maturity is the moment you realize that every person in your life has, at some point, been part of your growth.
The water at the roots.
The light above.
The soil that holds you.
All of it matters.
If I were to extract one simple lesson from this, it would be this: take care of your garden.
Choose carefully the people you spend your time with. Choose the ideas you allow to occupy your mind. Choose the experiences that challenge you to become better. You become the product of the environment in which you grow.
And a final thought, perhaps a more philosophical one: maybe the most beautiful thing we can do is to become, in our turn, the water at someone else’s roots.
I wish you a day filled with wisdom,
Claudiu
